


How Far We've Come

by fangirlingfanatic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Body Dysphoria, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, How Do I Tag, Hurt Peter, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Superfamily, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Why Did I Write This?, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25529761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlingfanatic/pseuds/fangirlingfanatic
Summary: Things are not all good in the Stark-Rogers home. Peter's identity as Spider-Man is leading to him viewing his body as less than super. A mission gone awry has triggered some of Steve's darker memories. All of this leaves Tony to pick up the pieces, and because he's Tony Stark, deny the toll it's taking on his own mental health.Can they come together before things fall apart?*updates weekly*
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 68
Kudos: 142





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> This is my first Superfamily fic, so please, be gentle with me, but also feel free to offer advice or give me a heads up if the characters need to veer closer to canon. As expected, I am in COMPLETE denial of Endgame and Infinity War. 
> 
> Stony is an established staple and Peter was adopted as a baby.
> 
> All content warnings will be placed at the end of the chapter. Feel free to message me if you would like additional detail.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was five am at the tower and Tony and Steve couldn’t sleep. Steve didn’t sleep much anymore period, and Tony was a moonlighting insomniac, but tonight it was more than their owns demons that haunted them.

Tonight, their minds were firmly locked on to a new topic of concern: their fifteen-year-old son, Peter.

Steve ran a hand over his hair and sighed, taking a seat at the kitchen island while Tony cocked a hip against the countertop. “Tony, I’m worried about him.”

“I know,” Tony whispered back, a cup of coffee clasped tight in his hands. Steve wanted to say something about drinking coffee this late, or early if you looked at it that way, but now wasn’t the time. Not with everything else on their plates.

Tony dragged a hand down his face. “What do you think it is? Do you think it’s his anxiety again?”

Steve shrugged. “It could be. But he hasn’t had a panic attack in months. Once we put Osborn away, the attacks stopped cold turkey.” He pondered it a moment longer. “Besides, he doesn’t seem anxious. He seems tired.”

Tony took a long sip of his coffee and wished it had a little more kick to it. But he had promised Steve he would stop drinking. Peter deserved better than a drunk for a father and he wasn’t going to have a repeat for the incident a few weeks back. “Do you think it might have to do with his birth parents?”

Tony and Steve adopted Peter when he was barely a toddler but the adoption agency had warned them that when Peter’s parents had died, Peter had been in the house. All these years, there was no evidence that Peter remembered anything (he had been asleep and only woken up when the police searched the house) but that didn’t mean bad memories couldn’t return.

Both Tony and Steve felt they knew too much about bad memories returning.

Steve clasped his hands and dropped his chin against them. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t seem depressed. But it isn’t his usual moodiness either. I can tell when he’s feeling weird because he didn’t sleep enough or because he’s fighting with his friends. This isn’t that.”

“Maybe it’s because of the recent mission,” Tony murmured. “Clint got hit in the head right next to him. There was a lot of blood. Do you think he’s struggling with hero stuff?”

“Maybe.” Steve stood up and began to pace. “I just don’t know, Tony. Something seems wrong. I can’t put my finger on it. Something is just _wrong._ ”

“We’ll figure it out, okay?” Tony set his coffee cup down and took Steve’s hand in his own. “Right now, let’s just go try for another hour of sleep. It’s early and Pete won’t be up for a few more hours at most.”

Steve nodded and yawned as if on cue. “You’re right.”

Tony smiled and brought Steve’s face down to his so he could kiss him softly. “I always am.”

Steve tried to push the thoughts of what could be wrong with their son to the back of his mind and followed Tony back to bed.

He had no way of knowing that going back to bed would make everything that much worse.

So much worse.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the first full chapter!
> 
> This story will have some triggering content, so please scroll to the bottom for trigger warnings.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Chapter One_

_Two Weeks Earlier_

Peter woke up around ten am. It was an early wake up for a Saturday morning, but he wanted to get some time in the gym before his dads made their way down here.

He hated working out when they were down here.

Most of the time, it was amazing having Iron Man and Captain America as fathers. Tony was one of the brightest minds on the planet. Steve was one of the bravest men alive. Together, they were terrific parents and Peter loved them wholeheartedly.

However, working out with them was miserable. Steve could run Peter’s set fifteen times without breaking a sweat and lift all of the barbells in the room without even straining. Tony usually chose to work out alone (3 am was his favorite workout time), but when Tony did work out with them, he could hold his own against Peter.

At first, Peter thought it was because Tony was too stubborn to admit that Peter had better endurance thanks to the spider bite, but recently, there was evidence that it was because his dad was genuinely in better shape.

His dad was in better shape than he was. His 100% human dad could out stamina him.

It was embarrassing.

Peter was reaching five miles on the treadmill, sweat speckling his forehead, and decided to call it, take a break. His heels were sore and he felt dizzy when his feet finally found solid ground. He should have drunk water before he started running.

Peter glanced up in the floor-length mirrors lining one wall of the gym. Watched as he drank half the water bottle, as his stomach filled and bloated. He sucked it in. Even while breathing shallowly and holding his organs in as tight as possible, he wasn’t as toned as Tony. He certainly wasn’t as buff as Steve.

He looked like an average teenager who loved pizza. Not a superhero.

For the umpteenth time that week, Peter wondered why he had to look the way he looked. He didn’t mind his face; nothing special but nothing horrifyingly repulsive either, but he had never loved his body. He was too small there, not big enough here, and just an awkward-looking doofus when next to his dads. Like the ugly duckling, but instead of a duckling next to two swans, he felt like a malformed baby dodo plopped between a hawk and a bald eagle. Well, Steve wasn’t really the bald eagle type, more an aggressive duck, but whatever. The point stood.

And don’t get it wrong; Peter knew he was adopted. He knew there was a reason why he didn’t have Steve’s kind smile or Tony’s clever eyes. Why he hadn’t inherited either Steve’s blond locks or Tony’s jet black hair, but instead his own shade of mousy, bland brown.

But he knew he couldn’t fix any of those things. His hair, his eyes, his face… those were unchangeable variables.

But he could change his body. He could fix that.

Next, he took to the barbells. Steve had shown him how to use them properly a few times (all the different types of reps) but until now Peter had always done his own thing. Now, he was ready to start taking his workouts seriously.

An hour had passed, and Peter ran a total of twelve miles and did so many sit-ups, push-ups, and lifting exercises that he could barely see through the sweat dripping down his face. It stung his eyes and a scratch on his jaw.

He looked in the mirror one more time.

His hair was matted to his temples, and his clothes were drenched. Peter looked like he had been swimming, not running. He lifted his shirt and examined his torso for progress. Theoretically, he knew his body wouldn’t change at all in one intense workout. But he was Spider-Man after all. Maybe Spider-Man’s body changed after one workout.

A hint of abs rippled, the barest evidence of that weird muscle ‘V’ girls at school gabbed about during PE. But nothing in the face of Steve. He never saw Tony shirtless- the scars and machinery in his chest made his dad a bit self-conscious- but Peter’s mind could conjure up an image of Tony that made him just as toned as Steve, just more wiry.

Peter dropped his shirt and turned his back on the mirror. It didn’t matter what he looked like now.

He was going to change it.

***

“Where’s Peter, Jarvis?”

Steve glanced up from the pan of pancakes he was tending to. “He wasn’t in his room?”

Tony shook his head, half his mind on Pete’s location, the other half very firmly rooted in the semantics he was glancing over on his tablet.

 _“Peter is in the shower on the fitness floor,”_ Jarvis replied. _“He woke up around ten and was exercising until six minutes ago.”_

Tony cocked an eyebrow at Steve. The clock built into the microwave said it was almost noon. Peter didn’t get up before noon, and he certainly didn’t get up to exercise. “Jarvis, how long was Peter working out?”

“ _He was on the fitness level for half an hour before he started to use the equipment, but he exercised for one hour and seven minutes, sir_.”

“Peter?” Steve asked. “ _Our_ Peter woke up early to exercise?”

Tony shook his head and smirked half-heartedly. “Maybe he’s doing it for a girl.”

“He had that huge crush on the other intern at Stark Industries and never exercised for her,” Steve added. “Actually, he used visiting her as an excuse to get out of working out with me.”

“Maybe that’s just because running with you is extremely distracting,” Tony quipped. His eyes had found their way from his tablet to Steve. “I mean, honestly. I’m considering reporting you to HR.”

Steve was still looking at the stove and completely missed Tony’s harassing gaze. “What would you report me for? Having better stamina?”

Tony slid up behind Steve, his hands slowly creeping up Steve’s chest before gravity attacked and they began sliding downward. “Better stamina. Hmm. Maybe we should test your stamina.”

“Tony- you know I was talking about running and not-” Steve’s face was getting hot. He hated how easily Tony unraveled him. “I was talking about running.”

“I wasn’t.” Tony’s hands finally found their mark and Steve froze, his whole body electrified, especially when Tony’s hands found him beneath the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Hey, Jarvis?” Tony asked. “Tell Peter when he gets out of the shower to meet us up here for family breakfast. Make sure you let us know when he’s on his way, though.” Tony’s lips ghosted over the shell of Steve’s ear, his breath warm as whispered some ideas for their morning that involved burning breakfast and other very anti-Steve sentiments.

“ _Sir?_ ”

Tony rolled his eyes and Steve laughed. Jarvis, despite being an extension of Tony’s imagination, was missing some programming when it came to understanding the mood of a room. “Yes, Jarvis?”

_“Would you like me to distract Mr. Peter if he comes upstairs early enough to interrupt you and Mr. Rogers?”_

Maybe Tony had programmed Jarvis a little too well. “Absolutely.” Tony’s thumps hooked into the waistline of Steve’s briefs and he spun him around, his mouth trailing down Steve’s neck while Steve mumbled about needing to make sure the eggs didn’t burn.

“Spangles, put down the spatula and come with me. We can make more eggs.”

Tony’s thumb began to trace the ridges of muscle on Steve’s lower abdomen and that was it. Steve gave up.

“ _Based on my calculations, you have twelve minutes before Master Peter will be in the kitchen.”_

Steve hated that an all-knowing AI was watching them, even helping them plan out their sex life. But it was also extremely convenient because Peter still hadn’t walked in on anything. Ever.

“Mhm,” Tony mumbled, dragging Steve toward the bedroom. “Say bye-bye Jarvis.”

“ _Bye-bye, Jarvis.”_

Steve cackled at that.

Tony groaned. “I’m going to punish you for teaching him that, Steve.”

Steve’s mouth curled into a smile, almost feline. “Guess you have to teach me a lesson.”

The door to their bedroom clicked shut and Tony did teach Steve a lesson.

Multiple lessons.

Thankfully, the tower had soundproof rooms.

***

_“Peter, your fathers request you join them for breakfast. Even though it is noon and should be considered lunch.”_

Peter toweled his hair dry and slipped into a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. His legs were already sore. “Got it, Jarvis. Thanks.”

_“You’re welcome, sir.”_

After checking his phone for any important notifications, Peter made his way back to the residential level. Tony and Steve were both sitting at the table waiting for him.

It didn’t escape his attention that they both looked a little too giddy- or maybe rosy was a better term- for the middle of the day.

 _Gross_.

His dads were so _gross._

Tony had his ever-present tablet in front of him, his fingers racing across the screen as he fiddled with yet another invention/program/plan of his. Steve had the newspaper to his left but barely glanced at it as he ate.

“Hey.”

“Sup, kiddo,” Tony said without even looking up. “So. What do we owe this early morning workout to? You never get up before noon on a Saturday. Let alone, exercise. What’s up with that?”

Peter shrugged. “Nothing. I just felt like it.”

Steve raised an eyebrow but waited until he had swallowed his food before speaking. “You just felt like it?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.” Tony glanced up and scanned Peter’s face. “Yeah, I don’t buy it. Count me out. What is actually going on? A girl? A guy?”

It took Peter half a minute of blushing and fumbling over words before he uttered a squeaky “ _no!_ ” while Steve struggled not to laugh. Tony laughed shamelessly.

“Just let him be, Tony,” Steve said. “At least it isn’t anything bad. Exercise is a good thing.”

“Especially for you, Spangles,” Tony mumbled. “I could watch that ass on a Stairmaster for hours…”

Steve choked on a mouthful of eggs and Peter ran toward the kitchen before he could be subjected to any more of Tony’s running commentary.

Working out always made him extra hungry so Peter piled his plate as high as possible before sitting back down at the table.

“Do you have a lot of homework this weekend?” Steve asked.

Peter made a ‘sort-of’ gesture with his hand. “I have a paper for English. The rest I got done last night.”

Steve smiled. “Good. I’m proud of you.”

Peter tried to smile back, but his mouth was so full he was already struggling not to spew food everywhere without stretching his lips outward. He settled for a strained grimace-like grin.

“Peter, you look like a chipmunk with a binge eating disorder,” Tony stated without looking up from his tablet. “Slow down on the brekkie.”

Peter swallowed and murmured an apology before eating some more.

Tony and Steve discussed news and business, giving Peter the cue to tune out.

Before he knew it, his plate was empty and he leaned back in his seat to rest both hands over his very satisfied gut.

He earned all that food, right? He worked out for a full hour. It’s important to eat a good meal and Steve wouldn’t make him a bad one, right?

Peter looked at his dads' plates. Pancakes and eggs and sausage. Same as what he just ate. He was fine. Food was healthy, right?

Still, the paunchiness of his gut bugged him, so he leaned forward, letting the front of his shirt pillow open and hide the damage.

“Do you guys mind if I go spend some time at Ned’s today?” Peter hadn’t even checked if Ned was home, but he figured Ned wouldn’t mind him showing up unannounced. “We’re going to watch a bunch of old syfy movies.”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Tell Ned hello for me.”

Peter rolled his eyes. They had been friends for over a year before Peter had the courage to tell Ned who his parents were. It had been six years since they met, and Ned still treated words out of either of his fathers’ mouths as gospel.

“If it doesn’t send the kid into a fit, tell him hello from me, too,” Tony murmured as he walked toward the elevator.

Steve cocked an eyebrow. “Where are you going?”

“Office,” Tony said without turning around. “Just give me a few minutes and then we’ll do stuff.”

Steve dropped his jaw against his fist. “How much of your father’s fortune can I gamble on him not coming back for at least a few hours?”

Peter sighed. “All of it, Pops. Every last penny.”

***

An hour or two after arriving at Ned’s, Peter got a phone call from Tony that the team had been called in for a mission. He and Steve would be out within the hour.

Tony and Steve had a rule that while they were out on a mission: Peter had to be in the tower. No Spidey stuff, no midnight snack runs. In the tower, the whole time.

Peter took the subway home despite Steve’s hatred of anyone in the family using the subway. Tony would have sent their driver, but Happy was busy prepping the quinjet.

Peter was convinced Steve just hated the subway since it was underground, but Tony made him promise not to bring it up. They both know Steve has some PTSD from his time in the ice and he would be too proud to tell them if something triggered him.

When Peter finally reached the tower, Tony was waiting for him in the lobby, a suitcase in one hand and his cell phone in the other.

He dropped the suitcase at his side and typed furiously with both thumbs while looking Peter in the eyes. It gave Peter the creeps when he did that. “Is Ned going to spend the night here with you?”

Peter rolled his eyes for what felt like the thirtieth time today. Why were all the adults in his life convinced he would “get lonely and bored” and make poor life choices? Choices like going out as Spider-Man when there were no other heroes in the city.

He wasn’t dumb enough to do it, and even if he has done it a few times, his alibi was always rock solid. First step: have a reliable witness. “Yeah, Ned will be here in a few hours. We’ve got plans.”

Tony smirked and nodded, thumbs still going. “Please don’t just eat ice cream for every meal. I’ll have Happy check in with you a few times a day. Your Pops and I should be back within a day or two. It’s just a cross country renaissance. No biggie.”

Peter nodded and smiled. The more convincingly innocent the smile, the sooner his dads would leave. “I’ll be fine, okay? Don’t worry about me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Says every teenager at the beginning of every horror movie ever.” Tony pressed a button on the suitcase and within seconds, red and gold metal unfurled and Tony was no longer his dad, but Iron Man. Peter could see his plastered smile in the reflective metal of Tony’s faceplate. “Since you chose to ignore this rule last time, I’m going to say it again until it gets through your thick, underdeveloped, teenage skull.”

Peter knew what was coming and tried to wipe the guilt from his face.

“Do not go out as Spider-Man. No exceptions. Am I clear?”

Steve chose that moment to walk up as well. His cowl was down but he was in full superhero mode, too. He adjusted his gloves and flexed his hands, the navy leather straining against his knuckles. “Your father is completely serious, Peter. I am too. We can’t risk something happening to you while we’re gone. We- I would never be able to forgive myself.”

Peter wanted to growl and be a generally moody teenager, but he never could get too mad when Steve was so genuine with him. And spoiler alert: Captain America was 99.9% genuine.

He had never been able to argue with it before, no point trying now. “I won’t go out as Spider-Man. I’ll just be the a-okay lazy teenager this weekend who sleeps until noon and stays up until four. Is that good?”

Tony smiled. “Perfect.”

He gave both Steve and Tony hugs and assured them time after time again that he would not be going out as Spiderman.

Finally, the jet launched from the top floor of the tower, and Peter sent Ned a text.

By the time Ned came out of the elevator, Peter was dressed and ready for their first event of the night.

“So, I brought the ancient radio you asked for,” Ned said, holding up a handheld radio from the late nineties. “I also brought Red Bull. What exactly are we doing with them again?”

Because it was fun to do, and Peter was a total show-off, Peter tapped the sensor on his wrist and waited until his suit sprang to life. Metal panels shuffling and locking into place soundlessly.

“We’re got a mission to complete.”

Ned gaped. “I love it when you do that. It’s so cool. _So cool.”_

Peter shrugged and hit the sensor again, waiting until the suit was back to bracelet size. “I know, right? Makes me feel like my dads. Ready to order a pizza?”

Ned held up his phone and made the call.

The only mission they were going to complete tonight was an extra-large pepperoni from Pizzano’s.

The radio was just so they could try and pick up mission updates from his dads and figure out what they were doing.

See?

Peter was a great son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: disordered thoughts on food and body dysmorphia. 
> 
> And the first chapter ends! See you next Sunday with some more Superfamily drama. Don't worry, things are about to get a LOT worse for the boys. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing,
> 
> ~Ann


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! 
> 
> Sorry for the missed Sunday (and the short update) but college is upon us and I got overwhelmed with moving in and trying to write. Hopefully, with everything settling down, I'll have a nice long chapter for next Sunday. 
> 
> Good luck everyone with schools opening (both digitally and in-person)! We may be living in a pandemic, but hey, at least we have fanfiction to see us through, right?
> 
> Enjoy!

“Hey, Ned?”

“Yeah?”

“I feel kinda sick.” Peter burped. “Like, really sick.”

Ned nodded, folding another piece of pizza in half and shoving it into his mouth. “Yeah, me too.”

“Then why are you still eating?”

Ned shrugged, eyes glued to the slasher flick they were watching. Someone was stabbed on screen and the bright blood spray sent red flares dancing across Ned’s eyes. Ned himself didn’t react at all to the gore. “My soul is a void only filled by the talented cooking of Italian grandmothers.”

Peter didn’t say anything to that. In fact, he was a little disturbed.

He settled deeper into the couch, kneading his palms against his abdomen. Maybe he felt sick because he was worried about his dads. Maybe it was just because he ate two greasy pieces of pizza. Maybe… maybe… maybe?

It could be so many things.

He clutched his gurgling stomach harder and grimaced. His insides felt slimy and stiff all at once. His hands left damp patches on his clothes. His outside, _his skin_ , like it was vibrating and above to slide off.

Shit.

He was panicking.

Why was he panicking?

“Hey, Ned- I’ll, uh, I’ll be right- give me a minute.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll tell you what happened in the movie when you get back.”

Peter murmured ‘thanks’ before sprinting up from the couch.

He kneeled in front of the toilet for ten whole minutes, fingers white-knuckled on the porcelain, as his breaths stuttered in and out. He felt like he was going to vomit everywhere but nothing was coming up. None of the telltale gagging or belching.

What was going on?

Usually, this was the point when Jarvis would kick in, ask him if he wanted one of his fathers. But Dad and Pops weren’t here. They were jetting across the country, getting ready to or already fighting off bad guys in order to save the world.

Oh.

So maybe that was where some of the panic was coming from.

Because if something happened to his dads-

He would be just like he is right now. Maybe not sitting with his forehead resting on the (hopefully clean) rim of the toilet and his knees trembling against the tiled floor. Hopefully not.

But he would be all alone.

That was the thought that finally unsettled Peter’s stomach enough for him to throw up.

Back at the couch, Ned heard what happened and grimaced.

“Pizza will do that to you sometimes,” he lamented before taking another bite.

#

“So, we have little to no idea what we’re looking for or what we’re dealing with?” Tony asked. “We’re infiltrating a base- one supported by military safety precautions and the deep pockets of a millionaire- and we don’t even know _why we’re doing it_?”

Steve sighed. “Tony-”

Clint leaned back in his seat, absently picking something out from under a fingernail with an arrow. “No, I’m with Tin Man. Why are we storming a base we’re not even sure we have to?”

“I’m just confirming the facts.” Tony waved a hand up. “No, wait, I’m sorry. I’m confirming the _lack of facts._ ” He nodded at the increasingly pale S.H.I.E.L.D agent. “Go on.”

The agent nodded, his forehead damp and eyes deer-wide. The kid was maybe twenty-five and probably new to the job. Steve was more inclined to show compassion because of that.

Tony was more inclined to make sure this suicide mission didn’t become a homicide mission.

“So, um, the base is set up- like this.” The agent tapped at his tablet and a holographic layout of the area appeared level with their eyes. “It doesn’t look like much, but that’s because the majority of the structure is underground.”

“Like a bunker?” Steve asked.

The agent snapped in relief. “Exactly like a bunker. A bunker where another super serum is being produced. Except, unlike you Mr. Rogers-”

“Stark-Rogers,” Tony interrupted.

Natasha let loose a slew of Russian curses as Steve went burgundy.

“Uh, sorry, um, Mr. Stark-Rogers. The serum being produced is a bit more like Mr. Banner’s than yours.”

Just when they need the good old Green Giant, he’s giving TedTalks somewhere in Scandinavia. The team was just the Stark-Rogers, Natasha, and Clint. Nothing to sniff at, but only a partial assembling of the Avengers.

“So… we do know what we’re infiltrating the base over,” Tony asked, dropping his elbows onto his knees.

“Um, kind of.”

“Kid, you’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

The agent looked about ready to grab a backpack and jump from the plane. Anything to escape Tony’s stare. “The serum isn’t what we’re after.”

Steve knew getting irritated wouldn’t do anything, just raise the already high tension to an astronomical level, but he himself was getting impatient. “What are we after? We can’t get it or destroy it if we have no idea what we’re looking for.”

“A weapon,” the agent said. “That’s all we know. Some sort of weapon being produced in the same lab as the serum.”

“You've got to be fucking kid-” Tony started.

“Great. This is just fucking great-” Clint continued.

Even Steve and Natasha weren’t on board with the odds of this mission.

But two hours of strategizing and bitching later, all four of them were in the woods outside of the base, ready to attack.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Tony,” Steve cautioned, testing his grip on his shield with one hand as the other adjusted his cowl.

“Yeah, yeah, love you, too.” Tony’s faceplate snapped into place with an audible _chink_. “Alright, I’m ready to take this guy out and go home. Ready?”

Everyone affirmed.

On Steve’s mark, they ran (or flew, in Tony’s case) out from the cover of the trees.

If only they knew that the millionaire on the base, a little shit from Washington D.C. named Johnny Bech, was ready for them, too.

#

After successfully throwing up everything in his stomach, Peter wanted to just go to bed and talk to Jarvis. Maybe even fall asleep with the help of one of Steve’s sleeping pills.

But he had invited Ned over for a movie night and he would be a bad friend if he let Ned sit out there all by himself.

Besides, now that his stomach was empty, he felt somewhat better. Maybe it had been the pizza after all.

He resolved to avoid it.

His time in the bathroom reminded him of two things: one, pizza wasn’t healthy, wasn’t good for him. Two, the new Peter Parker was going to be a superhero. Not just Spider-Man, saver of cats and dogs and half-blind old women crossing the street, but Spider-Man, newest Avenger.

And superheroes needed to be fit. Physically fit.

So Peter skipped the pizza, even an hour later, when his stomach cinched and yowled, begging for him to feed it.

Instead, Peter nestled further into the cushions and turned the volume up on the movie so Ned wouldn’t hear the gurgles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for some serious whump in this upcoming chapter. Steve and my boys have no idea what's coming for them. (But especially Steve. Poor guy.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> ~Ann


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the chapter is ready a full day early. I feel like God.
> 
> I hope everyone’s semester is off to a good start! Mine starts next week and I’m nervous, to say the least. However, I’m also really glad for a safe reason to leave my apartment and see other people, even if it is from behind a mask.
> 
> These next few chapters are going to get heavy with Peter and Steve’s problems. All triggers will be listed at the end of chapter notes.
> 
> The next chapter is going to be heavy with Steve based angst, so be ready.

Tony lost all communication with the team the moment he burst through the door of the main building. Just like that, comms went dead.

Whoever this guy was, his tech was good. Good enough to kill Tony Stark’s radio signals in seconds.

That was a very bad omen for the rest of their mission.

“Alright, Richie Rich, where is your pampered ass hiding?”

If they stuck to the plan, Steve was currently coming through the back while Nat and Clint took the second floor from the sides. Black Widow and Hawkeye would take out whoever was upstairs and flush everyone out while Steve and Tony waited on the main level.

Thankfully, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s blueprints did include the basement’s entrance at the center of the building. The team would rendezvous at the door and face whatever the hell waited for them together.

A little too predictable if you asked Tony. But even if they no longer had the element of surprise, they now had the element of sheer force.

“Oh, fuck me.”

Tony rounded the corner… and there was no one there. Nothing. Just an empty hallway after an empty room.

“Jarvis?”

But Jarvis was gone too. All things wireless were dead. If his suit’s power didn’t lay nestled in his chest, it would be dead, too.

“Tony?” Clint came rushing down from end, bow lowered, with Nat at his heels. “What the-”

“I know.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and cracked her knuckles. “This is obviously some sort of trap.”

“Maybe we got lucky and they left with all the goods before we showed up?” Clint suggested, reaching back to notch an arrow before he remembered he still had his first one. He hadn’t even shot anyone yet. “Tony, I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”

Nat hushed them. All Tony could hear with his own breathing and the occasional whir of his suit. The air was eerie, dead.

“Tony, where’s Steve? I can’t hear him.”

The serum. The quiet. _The damn back door._ “Shit. Shit shit _shit!_ ”

Realization dawned on everyones’ faces and all three of them beelined for the south side of the building.

#

Steve broke the back door down for no reason.

There wasn’t an ambush waiting behind it, or even a lab or ominous looking maps or machines or anything.

The room was completely empty. Just white walls and a battered grey carpet.

Hefting his shield at eye level, in case someone was waiting beside the door frame, he stepped into the hall. It was completely empty, too.

What was going on?

Something felt wrong, but Steve couldn’t put a finger on it. Sure, there was a high chance this was a trap of sorts, Steve knew that. He fought in wars, dammit. He knew a basic trap. This felt… different.

But there was something more to this ominous churning in his gut. Something more severe.

He was just standing there, a sitting duck in the middle of the hall, when he heard the scream.

High pitched, almost girlish, but just deep enough to know it was a younger boy. Familiar.

_Peter._

How was Peter _here_? Someone would have called them from the tower, someone would have-

Steve didn’t have time to think. He needed to get to his son.

Another scream pierced the air, and this time, Steve paused, tried to pinpoint which end of the hall it was echoing down from. His heart was thundering against his ribs and his fingertips had gone numb.

His perception wasn’t perfect, but he thought it was coming from the left.

So he ran.

#

Tony, Natasha, and Clint were making their way along the left side of the compound when they heard it. The heavy, aggressive steps of someone running.

“Finally,” Clint murmured and held up his bow, arrow taut against the string. Nat lowered into a fighting stance and Tony held up a palm, laser warm and aimed.

The footsteps stopped.

“That’s right, buddy. Can’t deal with the Avengers, can ya?”

Nat groaned. “Clint, shut up.”

“It’s this kind of thing, this attitude of yours, that makes you so difficult to deal with-”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Guys. On a mission. Hash this out with your couple’s therapist.”

“Got any you would recommend?” Clint murmured.

“Spangles is a boomer. I can barely get him to see his own, S.H.I.E.L.D. mandated therapist. No couple’s therapist.”

At that, Nat let out a sharp exhale of air. Something almost like a… laugh?

 _Holy shit_.

Even in their dire situation, Tony felt elation ripple through his chest. He had made Natasha fucking Romanov _laugh_.

Regardless of the outcome of today’s mission, he would feel accomplished. Superior. God-like.

Nat had _laughed_ -

The footsteps started up again, running. But this time, they were getting quieter instead of louder. Whoever this guy was, he was on the move.

“C’mon,” Tony gestured and all three of them quietly made their way down the hall.

“Really not digging the low budget horror vibes going on here.”

_“Clint.”_

“Sorry, sorry.”

The weird layout of the compound hid it from view until they were only a few feet away, but halfway down the left side of the building, a doorway dropped into a creepy set of stairs. The door hung ajar and because this mission was destined to end poorly, everyone had the feeling this is where whoever they heard earlier went.

“Ladies first,” Tony said.

Instead of rolling her eyes or emasculating them further, Nat took it in stride and went first, Clint at her heels and Tony at his.

At the bottom of the steps, Nat was the first one who heard the air canisters deploy.

“Gas!” She yelled.

Tony flipped his face plate’s filter onto internal air seconds before Clint slumped into him and Nat stumbled up to his side. She grabbed Tony’s arm, eyes determined before falling down beside Clint, unconscious.

“And then there was one,” an ominous voice purred over the loudspeakers.

Fuck. This guy was a performer. As a performer himself, Tony knew this was only going to get worse.

It was hard to leave Clint and Nat out cold on a stairway, like ripping himself in half, but he had to keep going, even if it was a trap.

They still hadn’t seen Steve.

He had to find him.

#

“Ned, are you asleep?”

“No,” Ned rolled over so he was staring at Peter, eyes bleary and squinting from the bright light of the TV. A few hours ago, Peter and Ned had each taken their respective couches in the living room with piles of blankets to properly marathon the entire _Jurassic Park_ franchise. “Just resting my eyes.”

Peter was pretty sure resting your eyes was an old people's way of saying ‘yeah, I was totally sleeping’ without having to say the words. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this mission.”

“Our mission or your dads?”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. “What mission are we on, Ned?”

“Watching all the _Jurassic Park_ movies in one night,” Ned said, voice indignant. “It’s not for the faint of heart.”

“Oh. Yeah, you’re right. But no, I was talking about my dads.”

Ned sat up, his blanket pooling in his lap. “Peter, your dads are Iron Man and Captain America. They’re practically indestructible.”

There is was, though. _Practically_ indestructible. Not totally. “They're still destructible, though.”

He had seen it. Not often, but once was all it took to put the thought in his mind.

Tony’s suit with a chunk missing from the back. Wires and sparks and blood. For days, Tony couldn’t sit down all the way without ripping his stitches. Steve had to help him in and out of bed.

Steve with so much blood dripping down one side of face from a head wound that Peter thought he had lost an eye. The wound was closed and a thin white scar a day later, but the sight of all that blood… Peter saw.

His dads could be hurt. It was hard but it could be done.

Ned couldn’t understand because he’d never seen it.

Which was good, Peter guessed, because that meant it didn’t happen often.

“Peter, your dads are really good at what they do. Like, freakishly good. I mean, the Avengers are like in Honors for superheroes, you know? They’re the best of the best.” Ned was right. Peter knew he was right. “Besides. Whatever mission they’re on can’t be too big a deal because Happy isn’t staying here with us. Your dad always has him sleep on the couch when the mission is dangerous, right?”

Wow. Ned was good at this. Explaining things in a way that didn’t quell Peter’s anxiety- nothing could eliminate it completely- but enough for his heart to slow and his mind to clear. “You’re right.”

Ned smiled and turned back to the movie.

Peter wasn’t calm yet. He might not be able to sleep. But he could watch the movie with Ned again.

His stomach grumbled painfully but he wouldn’t eat any more pizza.

He couldn’t eat that. Not with his dads out there. If they needed him, he would need to be ready.

#

Steve couldn’t believe he had fallen for this.

He was well underground, alone, and completely unaware of his surroundings in the dark when a titanium cage the size of a double-wide fell from the ceiling and clattered into place. Around him.

Immediately, he ran to the side and tried to curl his fingers under and lift. But it had clicked into place, locking into notches on the concrete floor. He was trapped, at least for now. He curled his fingers around the thick mesh, the holes were already a foot wide, if he could just _pull_ -

Overhead lights flickered on, bright enough to momentarily blind Steve.

He held his shield over his eyes until he could make sense of his surroundings. Outside the cage was a square room, no bigger than their living room at the tower. Which, to be fair, was pretty big. The walls were a dirty grey and the floor, like he thought, was fresh concrete.

Two people came in from the door opposite the one Steve had wandered in. There were only two exits.

One of the people was a young guy in a UCLA sweatshirt and skinny jeans. He had shoulder-length brown hair, half of it pulled up in a topknot. Beside him was a blonde girl no older than twenty. She was wearing a hot pink, oversized t-shirt with Greek letters on the breast pocket and black leggings.

They looked like a couple you’d see wandering out of a campus Starbucks, not a tech millionaire and his suiter.

“Captain America, as I live and breathe,” the guy said, arms wide in welcoming. “This is my girlfriend, Mockingbird. She’s the one who got you down here.”

She waved his way and opened her mouth. He was looking at her, so he knew she said it, but when _“Pops, help me!”_ left her lips in a pitch-perfect impersonation of Peter, he still had to fight the urge to look around for his son.

“Isn’t that amazing?” the man said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Talented and philanthropic. Her sorority raises money for kids with cancer. Real keeper, this one.”

“What do you want with me?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just some blood and tissue samples.”

If this guy had good intentions, Steve would give the samples willingly. Medicine and scientific advancements saved his life. But that kind of power, in the wrong hands, could be used to end lives. And Steve couldn’t have that.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

The girlfriend, Mockingbird, slipped out from under her boyfriend’s arm. “I’ll get the stuff, Brandon.”

Brandon. Now Steve knew for sure this was the tech guy.

“Because I’m a patriot, and I love your work, I’m going to give you one more chance to do this willingly,” Brandon said. “The easy way, if you will.”

Steve shook his head. “You can’t have the samples.”

Mockingbird handed Brandon a gas mask of some sort. “All yours.” With another wave, she was gone.

“Well, then you give me no choice.” He slipped the mask on, strapping it into place. “I’ll just have to knock you out for it. Don’t worry, the brain damage from lack of oxygen will be minimal.”

With that, Brandon flipped two switches on the wall, causing two steel doors to drop down into the previously open doorways. The doors clicked into place with a paired _thunk_.

“Last chance.”

Steve’s heart was racing but he took a deep breath. Tony, Clint, and Nat were here, too. They’d find him and they’d get him out.

They always did.

“No.”

Brandon slipped a phone out of his back pocket and taped away, humming a song as he did.

“Your choice.”

Vents started hissing and Steve took the deepest breath he could, holding onto the air the same way he held onto the hope that the rest of his team would find him before he fell asleep.

#

The sudden light from somewhere deeper in the basement was what triggered the guards to Tony’s presence.

All eight of them were out cold within a minute, some a little toasty from Tony’s lasers.

“I am fucking awesome.”

Another four guards rolled in.

They were added to the pile easily.

If Tony’s limbs weren’t sore and he wasn’t so worried about Steve, he might have wondered why it was so easy.

Getting in.

But he was too focused on Steve. Steve, who was probably down here somewhere.

After backtracking, wandering, and backtracking some more, the thud of slamming doors echoed clear enough for Tony to pinpoint the direction.

Metallic footsteps cracked across the concrete flooring as Tony ran.

He reached a steel door. Knocked on it a few times. It was a thick, solid. At least six inches, maybe more.

“I’m coming, Steve.”

Tony angled his palm so the beam would go over Steve’s head if he was standing nearby and fired at the upper seam of the door. Gradually, the steel began to melt away and light leaked into the hall.

“Bingo.”

Unfortunately, two more guards came for Tony.

Fortunately, they were dumbasses and announced their presence with a good ten feet between them and Tony.

Launching both of his metal fists off of his hands and at the goons, they were both taking a nice long nap courtesy of metal plated uppercuts within seconds. Tony scrambled to get his gloves back on and began to cut at the door again.

He yelled but no one answered. Not Steve or whoever he could hear walking around in there. The footsteps were too light, too uneven to be Steve’s.

Shit. He needed to get in there _now._

Thirty seconds later, Tony knocked the door in.

Steve was curled up in some sort of metal cage, laying on his side.

“Steve!”

Tony ran up to the cage, fingers tugging at the metal mesh. It was titanium. He couldn’t melt it. He’d either have to lift it up or-

There was a metal door, same as the one he burst in through, on the other side of the cage. All Tony could see were beat up sneakers as the door latched closed.

He had a choice. Go after the idiot behind that door or get Steve out.

There was no choice.

S.H.I.E.L.D. could deal with the amateur goon. Tony wouldn’t leave Steve.

Especially not when he wasn’t breathing.

“C’mon, c’mon. Think Stark. Fucking think!”

Footsteps came down the hall and toward him. Tony could’ve started crying when Nat’s familiar red hair came into view.

“Nat, he’s-”

Without a word, she climbed the structure and slipped into the cage through one of the larger mesh openings at the top. It was tight, but she fit.

“I’ll do CPR. You get us out.”

“I can’t melt it. Titanium.”

“Then lift it.”

She was right. Of course. If his mind wasn’t chanting ‘S _teve, Steve, Steve’_ in sync with his heartbeat maybe he would’ve thought of it already.

“Nat, is he-”

“He was a pulse.”

Tony turned away and scanned the walls for something, anything.

If he looked at Steve, he would start melting down and he couldn’t afford to do that right now. He needed to keep his head clear and get Steve out.

“Nat!” Clint burst in. “What the-”

“Help me find something to get them out,” Tony yelled, his fuse lower than usual.

Instead of calling him out on being a dick, Clint started to circle the room from the other side.

“Tony! I found something. It’s some sort of keypad…”

Eyes carefully positioned so he couldn’t see Nat and Steve beyond a colorful spot in his peripheral, Tony ran over to Clint.

The keypad was standard, nine numbers and a blinking green screen no bigger than a Chapstick tube.

“Alright, give me some space.”

Tony pried off the cover and plugged his suit into the wiring underneath the keypad. The tech was basic and unprotected. He’d hacked it within seconds.

“I can get the cage up for ten seconds before it’ll drop again. Clint, help Nat drag Steve out on my count. One, two-”

The mechanics above and in front of Tony whirred and he turned to see Nat and Clint drag Steve out of the way.

Tony unplugged his suit from the wall and the cage slammed back into place hard enough to shake the ground beneath them.

“He’s breathing but he’s still unconscious.”

Tony’s knees felt shaky as he dropped to them at Steve’s side. He ran a gloved hand over Steve’s chest, felt the shallow rise and fall of his lungs.

Nat had pushed Steve’s cowl off, leaving his face and cornsilk hair bare in the harsh light. He looked young. And pale. Too pale.

Tony pushed his faceplate off and dropped a kiss on Steve’s temple. It was cool beneath his lips.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Clint rubbed the back of his neck, lacing his fingers together. “I don’t like this, Tony. They left us here. So whatever they wanted, they have it now. And we have nothing.”

“I’m not going after them like this, Clint,” Tony snapped.

“No, I didn’t mean-”

“Tony,” Nat said. “Look at Steve’s neck.”

Sure enough, a small patch of skin, the size of a thumbnail, was gone.

Tony didn’t want to know what they wanted with the super serum, with Steve, but he couldn’t focus on it right now. Not with Steve cold and deathly pale beneath his hands. “Let’s get out of here. S.H.I.E.L.D. deal with the rest.”

Tony carefully pulled Steve into his arms so his head rested on Tony’s shoulder. He was a heavy deadweight but Tony held him tight like he was weightless.

Nat and Clint said nothing, just went first down the hall, checking to make sure it was clear.

Steve shivered and Tony held him closer.

They were going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: disordered eating thoughts, throwing up, anxiety/panic attacks.


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lookie here!
> 
> I have a SECOND update for this week. That's right; two days after the last one. What can I say? This chapter was both easy and terribly difficult to write. 
> 
> Fair warning, lots of triggers in this chapter so read with caution. Poor Steve is going through the emotional ringer. Peter's not doing too hot, and oh, Tony, his time is coming soon too.
> 
> I feel so evil.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was over an hour before Steve woke up.

Tony had refused to let the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent separate them, medical protocols be damned, and was sitting on a bench, Steve’s head on his lap.

Nat was standing a few feet away, chewing the agent out over the direction their mission took when Steve started to come to.

“Hey,” Tony said, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair. “You were knocked out by that teenage dweeboid. He took some DNA so your neck might sting a bit. Don’t worry, I already bandaged it.”

Tony’s other hand cupped Steve’s jaw when Steve turned his face toward Tony, eyes struggling to open. “Tony?”

“Right here.”

Steve’s hand was trembling as he struggled to latch it onto Tony’s wrist. “I-”

Nat grabbed the agent by the collar and yanked him toward the front of the ship, giving Steve and Tony some space and privacy. Wordlessly, Clint followed.

Tony’s heart seized when he realized Steve’s eyes were watering. He took Steve in, head to toe, but he couldn’t see anything under the suit. No swelling, no blood, nothing. “Oh shit, Steve, am I hurting you? Are you hurt?”

“I-” His voice was little more than a murmur as Tony helped him sit up and pulled him into his arms, fingers massaging the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I-I-”

“Shut up with that,” Tony grumbled. “You almost died. It’s okay to need some time to process it.”

Steve shivered again. “Are there- are there any spare clothes on this thing?”

Tony’s mind raced but he couldn’t put the pieces together. Steve’s suit wasn’t damaged. And while it was tight, Tony had designed it with comfort in mind. “Probably? Is your suit bugging you?”

“I just- I need to change. I can’t- I can’t be in _this_ right now.”

Steve was trembling all over now, his skin clammy under Tony’s hands.

“Alright, alright. Come on. Let’s find you something to wear.”

Tony himself was wearing loungewear but there was no way his itty bitty fitted pants would make it past Steve’s calves. He tried not to let it get to his pride.

It wasn’t hard to find a pair of government-issued sweatpants and a white t-shirt in the back of the jet. Their missions always involved weapons and fire and dirt. Extra clothes were a must.

Steve was still shaking when Tony got back, his hands tucked beneath his arms. His lips were turning purple, then blue. It wasn’t warm on the quinjet, they were flying after all, but there was no way it was cold enough to get past the super serum. Something was off.

As Steve struggled to grip his numb fingertips around the zipper of his suit, Tony began to put pieces together.

Cold. Shaking. Need to get out of the suit. Almost dying from lack of oxygen….

Well, fucking shit.

“Let me help, okay?”

Steve shook his head, his hair hanging in front of his eyes, fingers still unable to get the zipper to budge. “No, no, I’ve- I’ve got-”

Steve’s breath hitched and he swiped a palm across his eyes with a growl.

Tony’s chest went tight and he put his hands over Steve’s shoulders. “Hey, hey. Let me help, alright? You know I love nothing more than getting you out of your clothes. It’d be my pleasure.”

Steve chuckled like Tony had hoped he would before palming his eyes again.

Getting Steve out of the suit turned out to be more of a challenge than Tony expected. It was skintight and with Steve trembling beneath his hands, Tony struggled to get the material down his hips and off his thighs.

“Almost done, just hang on.”

Steve didn’t respond. He was hugging his chest, teeth lightly chattering. His eyes red and glassy.

Tony’s heart was racing a mile a minute. It hadn’t been bad like this for months. Especially not after a mission. Tony’s chest felt like it was cracking under the pressure. He didn’t want this for Steve. Didn’t want him to live through whatever his mind was playing through.

After finally getting the suit off and rubbing some warmth into Steve’s arms, Tony made quick work of helping him into the sweatpants and shirt. It was a testament to how far from now Steve was, that he allowed Tony to dress him.

It was a bad omen.

“Is that better?” Tony took in his husband’s far-off eyes, thumbed a few stray tears from his chin.

“Tony- I know it’s in my head… _I know_ … but I’m so- I’m so cold… And I-”

“Hey, hey,” Tony cut him off, pulling him in close. Steve was shivering even harder than earlier. Now Tony saw it for what it was: a looming panic attack. He needed to get Steve warm, and he needed to do it now. “Here.”

Tony helped Steve onto the bench they had been sitting on earlier. “Take some deep breaths for me while I go find some jackets or blankets, okay? I’m serious. Deep breaths.”

Steve nodded, fingers fisting into his hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry about this.”

“I told you to cut that out. None of it, okay? This isn’t your fault, it’s that pre-pubescent asshole’s. I’m going to be right back.” Tony kissed the top of Steve’s head, smoothing his hair. “Hang tight.”

He dug around the back of the jet for a few minutes but came up empty. Just more t-shirts and an old size XS sweatshirt. No amount of finagling would get that to fit Steve.

Tony knew how Steve would feel about it, so he’d need to keep it on the DL, but he enlisted the help of Clint and Nat.

He found them at the front of the ship, Nat finally done yelling at the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and lounging like a cat while Clint toyed with a grenade arrowhead.

“Birdy, what are you doing with that?”

Clint glanced up. “Um. Examining it.”

“Put that down before you blow all of us up and we have to spend the afterlife haunting your ass.”

Clint glared but did as instructed. “Do you need something or are you just here to boss me around, Stark?”

“Actually, I do need something.” Nat lifted a single brow. “It’s Steve. Whatever the hell that guy did to him- it’s messing with his head. I need blankets, sweatshirts, anything to get him warm.”

Without a single question, all three of them scoured the ship. Clint found an oversized quilt Bruce ‘borrowed’ during a mission when he un-hulked in a Bed Bath & Beyond. Nat found a thermal blanket in the first aid kit. Tony found a pair of thick wooly socks from an Alaskan gift shop Thor has forgotten about.

It was perfect.

“We’re here if he needs us, okay?” Clint offered. “All of us.”

Tony grimaced. “He knows. But I’ll remind him.”

Nat nodded and Tony made his way back to Steve.

He had been gone for under five minutes and the episode had progressed.

Still trembling, Steve’s knees dug into his chest and his hands hadn’t moved from his hair. Tear tracks glistened along his jaw and down his neck. Tony couldn’t see Steve’s eyes from behind his palms and it was a small mercy.

Tony didn’t think he could handle looking him in the eyes right now. It would break him in half.

Careful that Steve could hear him walk over, Tony sat down beside him, trailing a palm up and down his spine. “I’m right here. I’ve got some blankets and thick socks. We’ll have you sweating in no time.”

Steve didn’t react.

Gently, Tony maneuvered the socks onto Steve’s feet. They were deathly cold, like ice blocks.

It wasn’t good.

Next, Tony draped the thermal blanket over Steve’s shoulders. Steve dropped one hand from his face to hold the blanket closed at his throat. Tony tossed the quilt over the thermal.

“Hey, can you look at me for a second?”

Steve took a deep breath, held it, blew it out in staccato sighs. Finally, he dropped his hand, letting Tony see his soaked cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

It was a level of trust Tony didn’t take lightly.

“I don’t know what I can do to help you, if there is anything I can do. But if you want, I can stay right here. I can hold you. Tell you stories of my MIT days that’ll make you blush. I’m here for you, Steve. I’m right here.”

Wordlessly, Steve dropped his head onto Tony’s shoulder, face tucked into his neck, and cried.

Tony let him.

#

_“Master Peter, your fathers are going to be home in two hours.”_

It was before eight, too early considering Ned and Peter had passed out under three hours ago, but Peter sat up like he had been electrocuted, knuckles digging into his eye.

“JARVIS?”

_“Yes sir?”_

“How’d the mission go?”

JARVIS took too long to respond. Which meant Tony was feeding him information from the quinjet. Tony only fed JARVIS information when he wanted to hide things. “ _It appears the owner of the property they were infiltrating wanted something with your father.”_

Peter’s eyes were both open now, sleep wiped from his face as anxiety crept in. “Which one?”

“ _Steve. A sample of his DNA was taken non-consensually.”_

“Is he okay?” Peter caught himself chewing on a fingernail and stuck his hands under his thighs. Ned was stirring on the other couch, grumbling incoherently.

“ _He appears to be upset about it.”_

Peter shivered once. The last time JARVIS said one of his dads was upset, Tony was having a panic attack. What was wrong with Steve? “Can I talk to him? Or Dad?”

A pause. _“I’m sorry. Master Tony says he’ll talk to you when they get back. He apologizes, but he and your other father are busy with something else at the moment. A post-mission debrief.”_

“Bullshit.”

“ _I’m sorry, sir?”_

“I said that’s BS, JARVIS. They always call me during meetings, no problem.”

Whatever happened with Steve, it was bad. Bad enough that Tony couldn’t drag himself away for thirty seconds to talk with Peter about it.

“Tell my dads I’ll be waiting for them when they get home.”

 _“Consider it done, sir._ ”

#

“Go call him, Tony,” Steve managed, about ten minutes after JARVIS tried to patch Peter in. “He’s probably worried.”

“Peter will be fine.” _You’re the one I’m worried about_. “As we speak, he’s cleaning up whatever natural disaster of pizza boxes and Skittles he and Ned made last night.”

Steve chuckled at that. He was coming down off his panic attack, his heart slowing and the color returning to his face as the blankets did their magic. “I miss when we did those as a family.”

Tony tightened his hold on Steve’s shoulders with one arm and ran his other thumb over Steve’s flushed cheekbone. “We could always start again. Why don’t we watch a movie tonight? You, me, and Peter. Some Chinese food.”

Steve sighed. “Sounds perfect.”

The rest of the flight passed placidly.

Steve was warming up and Tony held him the whole time, offering up hushed stories to make him smile.

When the jet landed, Steve took the thermal blanket off and folded it. Put it back in the kit.

He kept the quilt though.

Tony and Steve were sitting right by the plane’s exit door when Clint and Nat came by, each saying something low to Steve that Tony couldn’t hear. Nat touched Steve’s shoulder and Clint smiled before they disappeared down the ramp and into the Tower.

“Ready?” Tony asked, dropping a kiss on Steve’s temple.

Steve nodded.

The sun was peeking up between the skyscrapers when they made their way off the jet and onto the roof. A cold breeze tugged at the ends of Steve’s blanket and squeezed between the thick knit of his socks.

Tony shared a few words with Happy- confirming that Peter had stayed in last night and Ned was still here- before turning his attention back to Steve.

“Do you want breakfast or just some sleep?”

Steve’s eyes were barely open when he managed, “Sleep.”

“I’ll get you set up and then go have some breakfast with our favorite little hellion.”

Steve smiled at that and Tony could see the shell of his trauma slowly but surely cracking. Not going anywhere, but easing up its hold in the moment.

Their bedroom was the second door off the elevator and Steve all but fell onto the bed, burrowing under the covers with his back to the door.

“Get some sleep, okay? I’ll come get you for lunch.”

Steve sighed and opened his eyes long enough to find Tony’s. “Thank you.”

“Always.” Tony dropped a final kiss on Steve’s hair, covered him in two additional blankets, and let the door softly click shut behind him.

He took a minute to collect himself, remember his son. Peter would need reassurances, explanations…

Tony shamelessly popped a Xanax before making his way into the living room.

“Dad!” Peter yelled, launching over the back of the couch and into Tony’s arms.

“Oof! God, kid, are you trying to hug me or take me down?”

Peter pulled back and grinned. “Sorry, sorry! I’m just glad you’re okay. JARVIS was being cryptic.” He glanced over Tony’s shoulder and confusion flooded his eyes. “Where’s Pops?”

Tony checked the room for Ned but he wasn’t nearby. Probably in Peter’s bedroom.

“Kid, the mission was a bit rough for him. He’s fine, physically, but he just- he needs some time, some sleep. He’ll be out for lunch, all right?”

Peter’s face fell with every word out of Tony’s mouth. “Is he okay? What happened?”

Tony didn’t know if it was his place, knew for a fact that Steve would be pissed to hell if he told Peter. But there wasn’t a right answer because if he told Peter, Steve panicked. If he didn’t tell Peter, Peter panicked.

So Tony told a half-truth and just said that Steve was having one of his cold episodes.

Peter knew what that meant. The subway, the basement, the aquarium… all of those were places that sent Steve into a cold episode.

“Can I get him something?”

Tony shook his head. “Not now, buddy. Later, okay? Let’s just let him sleep.”

Peter smiled but it didn’t reach past his mouth.

Tony hated that. “How about some time with me? If you have breakfast with me, I promise I’ll tell you some of Natasha’s dirty jokes.”

Peter’s eyes lit up like Christmas. “Really?”

“Just don’t tell Pops.”

“Never.”

Tony slung an arm around Peter’s shoulders and they walked into the kitchen like that, Peter’s arms hugging his dad tight.

#

“Where did Ned go?” Tony finally dared to wonder aloud. He was currently burning bacon and eggs and needed to know if he was making slightly crispy food for two or three.

“Oh, he fell asleep,” Peter said, absently tracing the coffee maker’s rim with a finger. “We stayed up late watching all of the _Jurassic Park_ movies and Ned couldn’t handle it. He’ll be sleeping until noon at the earliest.”

“Kids these days.”

“Dad, you haven’t gone to bed before midnight, like, ever.”

Tony scoffed. “I have too! When we first adopted you, Pops and I fell asleep minutes after putting you to bed.”

“Babies don’t count.” Peter yawned.

“Babies don’t count,” Tony mimicked. “Believe whatever you need to.”

Once breakfast was on the table, Tony and Peter sat down across from each other and served themselves. Tony was famished. Peter… it was complicated.

“What?” Tony asked, gesturing with his fork at Peter’s plate. Peter only had a single scoop of eggs on his plate. No bacon. “Are you still full from all that pizza and whatever other sugary garbage you and Ned ate last night?”

Peter cringed and his stomach rumbled in reply. He picked his words carefully. “Sorry, we kind of overdid it last night with the pizza and I feel kind of gross.”

Tony’s parenting sense, much like Peter’s spidey sense, was smelling a story but he couldn’t figure out what exactly the story was. So he let it go.

He shouldn’t have let it go.

Peter filled Tony’s ear with the best and worst parts of the _Jurassic Park_ films for half an hour before Peter let Tony explain some of the newer projects due to come out from Stark Industries. Peter than convinced Tony to let him down in the workshop so they could play around with some robotics.

Tony didn’t notice Peter had only eaten two bites of his breakfast when Peter volunteered to clear the table while Tony did the dishes. He also didn’t see Peter dump the rest of his eggs in the trash before joining him in the kitchen, either.

With all his worrying directed at Steve, Tony missed all the red flags. Peter’s shifty and bruised eyes, his twitching foot. All the signs something was… off.

Instead, he slung an arm around his kid’s shoulders and they went into the workshop, no attention paid to the napkin Peter dropped in the trash on their way out the door.

The napkin with the two bites Peter had ‘taken’ earlier and then spit back out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: panic attack, anxiety, PTSD, disordered eating


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings from the pile of homework I have been living under these past few weeks! I hope the school year/work year/pandemic is treating all of you well. I personally have been pretty stressed but I think it'll start to get better soon. Darkest before the dawn and all that jazz.
> 
> Thank you to all the kudos and comment leavers! There no better way to wake up than some AO3 emails about other people reading your crackpipe fanfiction.

A few hours with Peter prattling on about school and his classes while Tony worked was exactly what Tony needed. He was three (or four) cups of coffee in, had grease under his fingernails, and his son was helping him program a robot.

It was such an easy way to spend the morning that Tony almost forgot everything that had happened the night before.

Until JARVIS reminded him that it was one in the afternoon, time for lunch.

“Do you want me to go get Pops?” Peter chirped, his need to see Steve for himself obvious.

“Peter-”

“C’mon, Dad,” Peter whined. “I’m not-”

“You know it’s not about you.” Tony sighed, rubbing his brow and accidentally covering it in motor oil. “Just- just let me get him, okay? He needs time, Peter.”

“Fine.”

Tony ruffled Peter’s hair and they made their way upstairs to the kitchen.

Peter took charge of lunch, grilled cheese and tomato soup, while Tony cleaned up. Somehow, Peter would come out of the workshop without a fleck of dust in his hair while Tony always came out looking like a coal miner.

Peter took the chance to go wake Ned up while Tony was in the bathroom.

Ned was snoring, mouth hanging open, when Peter opened the bedroom door.

“Ned! It’s one o’clock, dude.”

“Wh-what?”

“One o’clock. In the afternoon.”

“I’m up.”

But he wasn’t and they both knew it.

Peter’s stomach growled, the cramping becoming painful. Peter played it up, hoping to get Ned out of bed. “C’mon, Ned. Don’t you want lunch with Iron Man?”

That perked Ned up. He sat straight up and blinked a few times, eyes trying to catch up with the rest of his body. “Wait, lunch with your dads?”

“Uh, I’m not sure about Pops.” Peter’s chest burned at the thought. He still hadn’t seen Steve since they got back from the mission. And it didn’t seem like Tony was planning to budge on letting Peter see him anytime soon; not when Steve was having a cold episode. “But yeah, Dad will be there.”

“I-I need to shower first.” Ned leapt out of the bed, finger combing his non-existent hair. He was fanboying. So. Hard. “I can’t see Iron Man like this!”

“Ned, you had the flu here a couple months ago. My dad doesn’t care-”

“Peter, I will not be in the presence of Iron Man looking like this.”

Peter facepalmed. “Just use one of the clean towels under the sink in my bathroom. Don’t waste all the shampoo. You’re bald, dude, and you always use all of my shampoo.”

#

“Steve?”

Tony slid the door shut behind him with a soft _click_ and made his way over to Steve’s side of the bed. Their bedroom was pitch black and a few degrees warmer than comfortable. At least to Tony. Steve was curled up under their quilt like it was the middle of winter.

“Are you up for some lunch?” Tony perched on the edge of the bed, dropping a hand over what looked like Steve’s calf. It was hard to tell under all of the blankets. “It’s one o’clock.”

Steve didn’t say anything, just rolled over to face Tony, eyes bloodshot and only open to slits.

“That’s okay. I’ll bring you something after I feed the monkey.”

Tony wanted to climb in beside Steve, to pillow Steve’s head on his chest and talk in hushed tones until his voice lulled Steve to sleep. He wanted to be there for him. To throw a lifeline and drag Steve back from his mental timeline to the one they currently, physically lived in.

But he also had to take care of Peter.

“Try to get some sleep. I’ll be back, alright?”

Steve nodded and shifted the blanket higher on his shoulders.

Tony took a minute to collect himself by the door before going back to the kitchen.

His palms were clammy and his heart was racing. Steve usually came out of the episodes by now. This was supposed to be the part of the process where Steve was tired, and still a bit shell shocked, but smiling and sitting up. Not a blob under the blankets, unable to do more than blink and nod.

Tony popped another anxiety pill. It wasn’t a wise choice, overdoing it always made him sluggish and flat, but right now it was necessary. He could worry about himself once he wasn’t worrying about Steve or Peter. That was how this went.

It was a balancing act. 

Within half an hour, the pill had soothed his system, blurring the lines just enough that emotions felt smudged. Peter and Ned were laughing through some story about watching a movie together during a power outage and Tony only heard a little bit of it..

Peter was so busy talking, he hadn’t even touched his food. Both Tony’s and Ned’s plates were already empty.

“Peter, eat, kid.” Tony nudged.

Peter startled and his eyes went wide for a moment before he smiled goofily. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Sometimes I start talking-”

Ned nodded emphatically. “One time he forgot to breathe and almost passed out during an English report.”

“Ned!”

“Dude, he’s your dad. He knows.”

Tony was still fixed on Peter’s fully stocked plate. He hadn’t eaten much at breakfast either. Maybe he was coming down with something. “Do you feel okay?”

Peter grimaced. “Uh, yeah? Why?”

“You’re still not eating.”

“Oh. Right.” Peter looked down at the grilled cheese and soup for a second. “Honestly, I feel kind of nauseous.”

This whole thing was weird. First, Peter says he’s feeling fine and he looks physically fine. Good color, good mood, all the green light signs a parent learns to read. A bit pinched and panicky, but that’s Peter. But now, Peter says he’s nauseous.

Maybe he really is just nauseous. Or-

Tony kind of wants to hit himself in the face right now. A full, palm-centric smack.

It’s Peter’s anxiety. Peter is worried about Steve. Of course. Why didn’t Tony put those pieces together earlier?

What else would it possibly be?

“That’s alright. I’ll clean up. Why don’t you two get out of the tower for a little bit?” Give me some time to get Steve out of bed. Maybe even a shower and some food. All the things he will flat out refuse if there’s even a sliver of a chance Peter will see him.

Ned grinned. “Comic shop? Collin told me if I brought you in and you sign something, he’ll let us read all of the new Avengers comics, free of charge.”

Peter’s eyes bugged out. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, he’s a total fanboy.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “You guys are going to read fictionalized comics about the Avengers? Knowing every single word is a lie?”

“If it makes you feel better,” Ned said, “I only read them so I can write accurate fanfiction versions.”

Peter shrugged. “Ned’s versions aren’t half bad. He’s got a decent following now.”

“Both of you. Out. I do not want to hear another word about Ned’s fanfiction written about me and my husband and my team. Gross. Not canon. All that.” Tony waved once more when the teens just sat there staring. “I am dead serious. I never want to hear another word about this. Good-bye!”

Peter rolled his eyes and slinked off. It was one of those ‘that’s my kid’ moments for Tony. Dramatics were definitely a trait honed on the Stark side of the family tree.

Ned smiled and waved, slipping his backpack on as they left. “Bye, Mr. Stark!”

“Stark-Rogers,” Tony mumbled to their retreating backs. “Why does no one get it right?”

#

The boys had been gone for an hour before Tony pulled himself away from his tablet.

He was a shitty husband.

He didn’t want to be with Steve right now. Not because he didn’t want to help or be there for him or any of that. Because he didn’t want to feel useless and Steve’s episodes had the surreal ability to make Tony feel totally useless within seconds.

But he needed to try. Steve wouldn’t be magically healed by anything Tony did, but it would get him up, standing or at least sitting.

There wasn’t a manual for this kind of thing.

Tony couldn’t fix Steve the way he fixed Jarvis or Dumb-E or any of his other creations.

He slipped into their bedroom again, this time leaving the door open so a sliver of light shone across the bed.

Steve hadn’t moved since he came in earlier.

Tony sat on the edge of the bed, dropping a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “The apartment is all ours. Peter and Ned said something about reading the new Avengers comics for free. Can you believe that? Our own son reading that heteronormalized shit. I wonder which fake, busty blond lover they’ve given you this time. Probably a Susie. A _female_ kindergarten teacher who volunteers with the VA or something.”

Steve didn’t move, his eyes still focused on the wall of their bedroom.

“Listen. You don’t need to talk. Or do anything really. But maybe a bath or a meal would make you feel better. A cup of coffee? A movie? A heavy petting session? I would be happy to pet heavily for the sake of your mental health.”

That cracked Steve’s face into a smile. Small and strained, but a real smile.

“Oh, you like that, do you? Sexual predator. I swear.” Tony reached up to flatten a lock of Steve’s hair that was sticking straight up and rustled the blanket. When the blanket fell further down Steve’s shoulders, Tony saw that the bandage covering Steve’s missing skin had been picked free. The wound was angry and pink and definitely not sterile anymore. “Oh, shit. Steve, your neck-”

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, the words gravelly and broken.

“No, no. It’s fine. Don’t apologize about it. Just let me-”

“Do you know how many people would kill me, kill all of us, for that?” Steve whispered. Tony stopped fiddling with the bandage. “Dozens. Hundreds. Maybe even thousands. People would start and end wars over what I let some teenager take last night.”

“Steve, he almost killed you. There was nothing you could have done.”

“The serum-” Steve’s voice cracked and Tony caught himself before he could say something placating. Steve hated that. “The serum makes me superhuman. Capable of more than the average person.” At this, Steve rolled over to face Tony fully. His hair was in complete disarray and there were pillow marks on his cheek. “Tony, I lost consciousness in under a minute. That’s less time than it would take for a trained, non-serum human being. This guy won because I had a panic attack and knocked myself out before you, Nat, and Clint could get to me. It was my fault.”

“No, it’s-”

Steve shook his head. “Tony, I endangered the whole world today. Me. Because I-”

“You’re not doing this.” Tony threw his hands out, shrugged. A ‘what can you do?’ gesture. “I’m not going to let you play the superhero blame game. No free passes in the Stark-Rogers home.

“Steve, you lost, okay? There was a fight, one we were underprepared for, and you were the loser this time. We’re not going to talk about whether you could have won if things were different. What-ifs are dangerous for people like us. Because every day, we gain another what-if and if we’re not careful, those what-ifs will bury us alive.”

In the back of Tony’s mind, a voice whispered, _and I can’t dig you out, Steve_. _If you go there, to that place you were before Peter, that place I went to after Afghanistan, I’m not sure I’ll be able to find you and bring you back._

“So, I’m saying this with kindness, as your husband, but Steve, I think it might be bath time for a certain stinky super soldier.”

Steve’s cheeks went scarlet as his eyebrows cinched. “I do not smell-”

“Uh, you kinda do.” Tony was exaggerating (sort of) but Steve’s love for cleanliness might just get him out of bed. Tony took an exaggerated sniff. “I’m getting a whiff of spoiled milk, sweat, that weird fungus people get right on their-”

“Tony!”

Steve reached for the spare pillow and chucked it at Tony’s head. Tony dodged it at the last moment and guffawed. “Were you trying to decapitate me?”

Steve rolled his eyes and yawned. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re oh so smelly.” Steve would’ve thrown something at Tony again but Tony caught Steve’s face between his palms and was kissing him before Steve could knot his fingers around the edge of another pillow. “Now, c’mon. The shower has room for two and we have at least two more hours before the wild monkey returns.”

Something glinted in Steve’s eyes and Tony wasted no time getting him out of bed and to the bathroom.

A man has needs, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: disordered eating, substance abuse, anxiety, depression, PTSD.


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! It's been a while since I've updated... I know. Sorry about that.
> 
> I hope everyone is having a good week and this update makes it even just a little bit better. Stay tuned; I finally did some outlining and things are building up, I promise. These poor boys are gonna suffer.
> 
> Thank you to all of the lovely folks who left kudos and comments these past few weeks! They were much appreciated. :)

It had been a couple of days since Steve’s cold episode and on the surface, everyone was doing great.

Steve was back to his routine, morning runs and family time and all the other Captain America duties. Tony stumbled into bed right before the sun, murmuring equations until he fell asleep, mysterious mechanical grease always smudged somewhere on his person. Peter was still getting good grades and spent more time out with Ned than ever.

Except, he wasn’t always out with Ned.

Sometimes, he was just out.

Walking, running, hiding. Anything but sitting around the tower idle. Because the moment he was idle, the moment his mind got to wander… all he could think about was _food_. Healthy foods like apples and carrots, unhealthy foods like cheese fries and pepperoni pizza.

His mind was a constant cycle of cultish chanting about food. When he could eat, how much he could eat, what he needed to do before he could eat.

It was as exhausting as it was exhilarating.

And thanks to the Spidey genes, he was already seeing progress.

It wasn’t much, but it was there. The ripple of a rib when he turned a certain way in front of the mirror. A glimpse of muscle where muscle hadn’t been visible before.

It was crazy but it was real.

He was gonna be fit. Buff. Muscle-y.

Peter was finally going to look like a hero. Like one of his dads.

He could finally help keep _them_ safe. What happened on the last mission... To Pops.

Peter was going to help make sure it didn’t happen again.

#

Peter had been gone for a few hours, out on one of his walks, when he came back to find the tower a complete disaster.

Tony was screaming at someone in the kitchen, a splatter of red across his chest.

“Dad!” Peter ran to his side, looking for the wound. “Dad, what- _is this spaghetti sauce?”_

Tony groaned and glanced down, just noticing his shirt looked he had been shot. “Oh, well, fuck. Steve, you got sauce all over my shirt, you perv-”

“Tony, we’re married. Enough with the constant accusations!” Steve had a miraculously similar stain on his own shirt, slightly lower, almost like-

“Were you two _making out_ while making dinner?” Peter shrieked. His dads were so gross. So, so, so _gross_. “C’mon!”

Steve held his hands up, the sauce smear all over the front of his shirt the only thing Peter could focus on. “Peter, we were just-”

Tony smirked and held up a sauce spoon, a dirty, dripping one Peter hadn’t noticed earlier. “I asked Pops here to taste the sauce and he opted to taste something a little bit more _savory-_ ”

Steve and Peter shouted at him in perfect unison.

“Fine, fine!” Tony walked off, murmuring to himself before shouting over his shoulder. “I’m getting a clean shirt before Peter has an aneurism. I’ll grab one for you, too, _Captain_.”

Steve glared at Tony’s back before dropping his face into his hands. “I hate it when he says it like that.”

Peter shook his head. “I’m not talking to you for a couple of minutes, Pops. I’m kind of scarred.”

Steve thumbed at a spot of sauce on his hand before lifting it to his mouth and licking it off. “At least the sauce tastes good. Want to try it?”

 _Yes, please. I’m starving_. “Nah, I’ll just have some with dinner.”

Steve shrugged and went to give Peter a hug.

“Pops, you’re covered in tomato sauce.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up before he chuckled. “Oh. Right. I’ll change first.”

Tony came back, looking like a cat who destroyed something you cherished but hid it so well you’ll never find it, and threw a fresh shirt Steve’s way.

Steve changed right there, in the middle of the kitchen.

Which wasn’t super surprising, really, considering they were all superheroes who changed from civilian clothes into superhero suits regularly and publicly. But Peter couldn’t help himself from staring. At his dad. Like a complete and total weirdo.

And if anything, Steve was more toned then Peter remembered. Abs defined and swollen, back dimpled, nonexistent love handles. Peter fingered his own waist discreetly so Tony and Steve wouldn’t notice.

Still soft. Still pliable.

Still _fat._

“Peter? Are you okay?” Suddenly, Tony was standing right in front of him, his hands resting on Peter’s shoulders. “You went all spacey there for a moment.”

 _Deep breath,_ Peter soothed. _Deep, slow, breath. Don’t. Panic. Over. This._

“Oh, uh, yeah! I’m fine.” Peter’s voice went up too many octaves. _Crap_. “Just got a bit dizzy. Sorry, yeah, I’m good!”

Steve and Tony exchanged some sort of parenting look.

Peter needed to run for it. “Man, I really need to pee. Be right back.”

Peter was gone before either parent could say a word.

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “So, we both know you were a complete social reject at that age, but was it just me, or was that weird even for Peter?”

Steve frowned, crossing his arms over his fresh shirt. “That was definitely weird. Do you think he’s okay? Maybe I should go talk to him.”

Tony bit his lip, his foot starting to tap without his permission. “No, no. I’ll talk to him. I’m the teenage whisper here. Also, I’ll burn dinner if you leave me in the kitchen.”

“Very true.”

“You know, you didn’t need to agree-”

“Go check on our son, Tony.”

Tony waved Steve off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m going.”

#

Peter was pacing his bathroom, heart hammering.

What if his dads figured out that he was on a diet and tried to stop him or force him to eat an extra plate and then he-

_No._

Spaghetti was high enough in carbs for a few bites… but a plate? Two plates?

His chest was getting tight.

_Breathe. Just slow down your thoughts, slow your heartbeat, and breathe. A panic attack will not convince Dad and Pops that everything is fine. It’ll do the opposite._

“Peter?”

 _Shit._ It was Tony. Tony was so much harder to fool than Steve, even through a bathroom door. “Yes?”

“You seem a little tense. Is everything okay?”

“Just really need- well, needed to pee.” Stupid. So, so stupid. “Uh, is everything okay with you?”

Peter couldn’t see Tony’s face, but he could picture it perfectly- cocked eyebrow, slightly scrunched nose, general air of confusion. “Uh, yeah, bud. I’m good. Alright, when you’re done, dinner’s ready.”

To save himself from saying anything stupid, Peter clamped both hands over his mouth and nodded. Then he realized Tony couldn’t see him nodding because there was _a door_ between them. But by the time he put that together, he could hear Tony’s receding footsteps and he was in the clear.

Well, not in the clear so much as putting off a meltdown.

Dinner.

What was he supposed to do? Steve and Tony would notice if he didn’t eat. They were observant. They were superheroes for God’s sake. Superheroes noticed that their kid wasn’t eating.

But he couldn’t eat it either. Not _spaghetti_.

This was bad.

Really bad.

So.

Fucking.

Bad.

#

Dinner was a shit show.

To start it off, Steve made some comment about how Peter wasn’t eating.

Of course he wasn’t eating. It was spaghetti with meatballs and Peter _loved spaghetti with meatballs_. All it would take is one bite and Peter would eat the whole plate. Two whole plates. Maybe even three.

All of his progress would be undone in a single meal.

Then, Tony gently nudged his leg under the table and asked what was going on. But he didn’t ask the way Tony usually asked, with a side dish of side eye and a mouthful of snark. Instead, Tony’s eyes were soft, pleading, and that always messed with Peter’s head.

So, naturally, Peter bit his lip, glanced down at his food, and burst into tears.

Yep.

He started crying over his dinner.

If the red alarms hadn’t already been blaring between his dads’ ears, they definitely were now.

“Peter, what’s…” Tony jumped to his feet and came over to the other side of the table, knelt at Peter’s side and palmed the back of his head. Peter’s face was in his hands so he didn’t have to look his dads’ in the eyes. “What’s going on? Talk to us.”

Peter couldn’t speak. There was no way in hell he was telling them he was crying _over a diet_ and he didn’t have the mental space to lie right now.

“Alright, alright. You’re okay, buddy.” Tony carefully pulled Peter’s chair back from the table so he could pull Peter into his arms. Peter refused to move his hands from his face so Tony just wrapped his arms across Peter’s small shoulders.

Peter always felt smaller when he was crying. Like back when he was a baby and would wake Steve and Tony in the early mornings, refusing to stop screaming and start sleeping unless someone held him.

Judging from Steve’s pensive stare, he was feeling something similar.

“I’ve got you, monkey.”

That just made Peter cry harder.

About half an hour later, eyelashes and lids crusty with salt, Peter pulled himself together enough to put some lie together. A bad lie but better than the truth.

“Sorry,” he croaked. Tony rubbed his shoulder. “I, um.” He swallowed the urge to start crying again. _Not now_. “I ran into some guys at a comic bookstore with Ned. They said some shitty stuff about us. Really shitty stuff. Like, threats, and it- it just freaked me out because I don’t want anyone to hurt us, especially someone like that guy, and I- I, I guess- I freaked out.”

Steve shook his head and clenched his fists. “Do you want me to talk to S.H.I.E.L.D.? If it makes you feel safer, I-”

Peter shook his head and sniffed. His nose was running all over his face. Like a toddler. “No, no. It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t really scared of them. They were young and stupid. I just got scared because… there’s other people like that. People who want to hurt us just because we’re different, you know?”

Steve grimaced and Tony cringed. They knew exactly what he meant. Both of them knew what people wanted to do to people who were different. As superheroes, as men in a relationship.

Peter was preaching to a choir.

So they waited it out, Tony’s knees achy from kneeling in front of Peter’s chair so he could hug his son tight and Steve sitting across the table, ready to leap across the divide at a moment’s notice.

 _If they’re freaking out now_ , Peter thought, _I don’t want to know what they’d do if I told them the truth._

_I want to eat. More than anything. I can taste the marinana, the seasoning in the meatballs, the starch of the pasta…_

_But I can’t._

_I can’t eat_ that.

_It scares me. How much control food has over me._

And that itself was terrifying.

_Who was scared of eating?_

_Crazy people._

And maybe Peter was crazy.

He didn’t want to be crazy.

So he cried a bit harder.

#

Steve and Tony were getting ready for bed when Tony decided to break the silence.

They needed to talk about tonight.

“Is it just me or was dinner…” Tony gestured while the right words escaped him. _Extra? Too much?_ He didn’t want to invalidate Peter’s emotions. They were valid.

But they didn’t feel like Peter.

They just felt… wrong?

Peter had panic attacks. He had nightmares. He was generally anxious, and messy, and forgetful, and all of those double-sided words that Tony loved as much as he loathed.

But tonight felt out of character.

“It didn’t seem like he was upset about the thing at the bookstore.” Steve had a foamy toothbrush in one hand while the other one ran over his hair. “Peter doesn’t get upset about that stuff. I mean, just the other day, he and Ned were actively seeking out those exact people at the comic store to torment.”

Tony nodded and sat on the edge of the bed, his knee bouncing. “Steve, something just feels… off. I don’t know what it is but I know something is different. Peter’s been acting weird for a few days now. On edge. But not the usual anxious on edge. It’s different. It’s… _bigger_ almost.”

Steve finished brushing his teeth and came to sit beside Tony, squeezing his husband’s knee before kissing his forehead. “I see it, too.”

They sat there for a minute, Steve’s thumb tracing the knob of Tony’s shaking knee as Tony tried to unwind himself. He was pretty sure his body was just reacting to the amount of caffeine in his bloodstream. People with anxiety shouldn’t drink coffee, he knows, but the ritual of drinking coffee itself calmed him down so there was no right answer.

Steve’s head settled into the groove between Tony’s neck and shoulder and Tony let his cheek fall against Steve’s hair.

Those little touches said so much more than their words ever could.

“I’ll talk to Peter in the morning,” Steve whispered. “See if I can find out what’s going on with him.”

Tony sighed. “Good luck. He’s a terrible liar but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try.”

They got in bed but neither of them fell asleep for a long, long time.

#

It was about midnight and Peter still couldn’t sleep.

 _I did it, I did it, I did it,_ looped mercilessly in his mind just loud enough to drown up, _eat something, eat something, eat something._

24 hours. Peter hadn’t eaten in 24 hours.

Now that he’d done it, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Going a full day without eating was something people did all the time at school. Ned did it accidentally on the weekends at least once a month.

So why had it been so hard for Peter?

Sure, part of it was probably the Spidey metabolism. He ate more than the average teenager. He knew that.

But why was he so addicted to food that he couldn’t quit for a day without his mind fixating on all the things he wanted to eat? That scene he made at dinner… pathetic.

His stomach felt sore right now, empty. But he wasn’t hungry. He wouldn’t eat if someone paid him.

Because his stomach also felt smaller. Not by much, but by enough that he wanted to jump up and celebrate.

Well, his head was pounding, so he wouldn’t jump. Also, he felt a little weak.

But he made it.

24 hours.

He was doing it.

And tomorrow, he was going to do it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: disordered eating, anxiety, body image issues.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope your semester and year are going well. Stay safe, self care, read fanfiction, all that good stuff. 
> 
> Here's another chapter. I'll spare you the author's note and just say this; enjoy!

**Chapter Seven**

The next morning, Peter had breakfast with Steve while Tony was down in the workshop.

Everything was going the way Peter wanted it to. He was telling stories from school to keep Steve from noticing he hadn’t touched his food. And Steve was smiling and nodding, content to listen.

And then… it happened.

Midsentence, the smell of hot pancakes hit Peter, square in the face, and his stomach _throbbed._

 _One bite won’t hurt,_ Peter reasoned, fingers already shakily picking up his fork. _I fasted all day yesterday. That counts for something, right? Plus, eating now will keep my stomach from making weird gurgling noises._

One bite, a small triangle of fluffy, warm, pancake dripping butter and syrup…

It hit his tongue like ambrosia. Sweet, perfect, filling

One bite turned into two bites. Three. Five.

He lost count somewhere around a dozen but he couldn’t stop himself.

He was just _so hungry._

Peter was pigging out- _binging_ \- and it felt like there was no way to stop.

Steve’s nod of encouragement and ‘here, take more’ didn’t help. It was easier to eat with Steve watching his every move. Peter could tell himself it was to convince Pops nothing was going on, instead of the truth, which was he was trying to fill the gaping hole sitting below his ribs.

Peter would feel like shit afterwards, he knew that, but he was _starving_.

Two stacks of pancakes. Three prepackaged donuts. Mounds of sausage. Not to mention puddles of sugary syrup and butter to wash all of it down.

When he finally stopped, the fork coming to rest next to his plate, it felt like he was pulling himself out of a fever dream.

Some sort of alternate reality.

Peter could feel the lump sitting above his belly button. The damn food baby.

“It looks like your appetite came back,” Steve said, a grin cropping up. “That’s good. I thought you might be coming down with something.”

Peter wanted to die on the spot.

His appetite came back.

His appetite had never left. He’d just curbed it, controlled it.

“Yeah, sorry,” Peter said. It felt right to explain it away. “I think it was just anxiety or something.”

Steve stopped eating and clasped his hands above his plate, elbows resting on the table. Perfectly executed ‘worried father’ blocking. “What were you anxious about?”

 _You. Dad. Me._ “School. No big deal. It was just a project but it felt like… like a big deal, I guess.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “What was the project?”

 _Crap._ “Oh, uh, science stuff. It’s kind of hard to explain…”

Steve looked a bit crestfallen at that. “Oh. Like robotics and stuff? Yeah, you and your dad are way ahead of me when it comes to that stuff.” Steve’s tone wasn’t dismissive or mean but … resigned.

Peter didn’t know what he had said wrong. Steve went back to his breakfast and Peter fidgeted, ripping up his napkin so he wouldn’t eat anything else. He wasn’t even hungry.

Just impulsive.

“You know,” Steve started, dropping his fork and rubbing his forehead. “I know I’m not Tony- my brain doesn’t work like either of yours, I guess- but you can still tell me about school and that stuff. I may not understand it, but I’m happy to listen to it.”

Peter cocked an eyebrow before it clicked.

Pops thought that Peter wasn’t telling him about school because he thought Steve was too stupid to understand it.

Tack that onto the list of ways Peter was fucking up lately.

“Oh, Pops, no! It’s not like that. I just didn’t want to talk about it because it gives me PTSD just thinking about it.”

…A PTSD joke. _Peter made a PTSD joke with Pops_.

He could just curl up and die now, thanks.

Steve smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was the soft smile he gave people when they yelled at him at press conferences and he stood there, taking it. The polite smile.

Peter hated that smile.

Tony hated that smile.

Because someone, somewhere, had taught him to smile instead of speaking his mind, instead of defending himself.

So Peter bullshitted his way through a fake astronomy project about lightspeed.

Since the project itself was fake, Peter was 100% sure the science behind it was equally terrible, but Steve was listening raptly, breakfast forgotten.

And Peter liked making Pops happy, so he kept talking, even when Tony came in for another cup of coffee and shot him a ‘ _what the hell are you going on about, kid’_ look over the rim of his ‘Don’t Bother the Boss’ mug.

Fortunately, Tony didn’t comment on how the astronomy project sounded suspiciously like a _Stargate_ special and disappeared back into his workshop, mug abandoned on the kitchen counter in favor of the full coffee pot.

Steve glanced at his own empty mug once Peter ran out of steam. “I hate when he does that. I wanted some, too.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Dad drinks too much coffee.”

“Try telling him that.”

“I would but last time I tried,” Peter said, “he threatened to take away my workshop privileges. He said not to mess with his system.”

Steve chuckled. “Systematic cardiac arrest, maybe.”

Peter laughed and resisted the urge to grab another donut. His stomach was already painfully full. The last thing he needed was a fourth donut.

Why he being so neurotic about this? He was full. He didn’t need more food.

What Peter needed was to get up, to do something. “I’ll try to find the spare coffee pot and make you some.”

“Thanks, Peter.”

Once Peter was in the kitchen, going through the motions of making coffee with an altered single serve coffee maker that Tony had designed for some sort of Stark Industries kitchen tech launch next season, he glanced back at the table.

Steve had dropped his head onto one of his fists, stifling a yawn with his free hand. His eyes looked more sunken than usual. Less alert.

Now that Peter’s attention wasn’t freaking out over calories and complex carbs he realized how tired Steve looked. Like he hadn’t slept well in days.

Maybe the mission, and the cold episode, has gotten to Pops more than Dad was letting on.

But Peter wasn’t going to ask about it so he focused on making a nice, strong cup of coffee.

He couldn’t help Pops sleep but he could help him stay awake.

#

“Steve, go take a nap. You’re making me tired and I’m not even looking at you.”

Steve rolled his eyes and dropped his paperback onto the couch beside him. They were in the lab and he was sitting across from one of Tony’s dozens of worktables while his husband tinkered with something that looked suspiciously like their missing alarm clock and a bunch of solar panels.

Tony had a pair of upside-down goggles strapped to his forehead. Steve was finding it hard to take him seriously when he looked like an extra from _The Nutty Professor_.

“Tony, I’m fine,” Steve said, tone already inching toward defensive. “Just a lazy day, I guess.”

“Steve, you can’t just not-”

“Tony, you are _not_ the person to lecture me on-”

“I’m not lecturing you on anything-”

“You would if I let you-”

Tony dropped his tools and splayed his hands on either side of the mess, taking a deep breath before looking Steve’s way. “Tell me I’m wrong then.”

Steve crossed his arms and stuck his chin out. “Wrong about what?”

“You.” Steve rolled his eyes again but Tony cut him off before he could speak. “You won’t take your insomnia meds for some reason and you haven’t slept for longer than a few hours in days. Steve, you can’t go on like this. You need to-”

“Need to what?” Steve snapped. “Please, tell me, Tony. Tell me how I need to sleep more and take my meds and do all the things you refuse to do for yourself. I can’t wait to hear how _you_ think _I_ need to take care of myself. You want to talk about sleeping, Tony? Or meds? Fine, let’s talk. But your habits are going to be part of the discussion, too.”

Tony’s mouth stretched into a firm line and he rubbed his forehead with a clean part of his left wrist. “Steve, I have been sleeping less than the doctor recommends since I was a teenager. I know it’s not healthy, okay? I know. But don’t tell me that because I’m not perfect I’m not allowed to worry about you. I don’t sleep because I’m an asshole to my own body. Why you’re not sleeping… it’s different. You know it’s different.”

Steve huffed. “Sure. Just excuse yourself because you’ve been doing it for longer. That’s perfectly logical.”

“Where is this coming from?” Tony snapped. “I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t need your help, Tony! I’m not a child. I can work through my own problems without you trying to micromanage or telling me what to do.”

“I’m not trying to micromanage you!” Tony huffed. “Steve, you can’t go without sleep.”

“Neither can you.”

“But we’re not talking about me!”

“Maybe we should be.”

Tony snapped his goggles off and grabbed a chair from one of the other worktables, dragging it by an arm until he was sitting directly across from Steve.

“Alright. Fine,” Tony said. “I’ll let you tell me how to fix my own shit but we get to talk about you afterwards.”

Steve’s lip curled a bit and Tony was taken aback by how mean Steve looked right now. Steve was a lot of things but he was not mean. Not until right now. “This is not some sort of terrorist negotiation.”

“It’s not supposed to be a terrorist negotiation.” Tony reached out to take one of Steve’s hands but Steve shifted so he couldn’t reach it. “I know you don’t want to talk about this. I understand. Jesus, I fucking get it. But, Steve, I love you, and you’re hurting yourself. Look at your reflection in a mirror. You look like a well-aimed breeze could knock you over.”

Steve didn’t say anything, just sunk further into the couch, arms tight over his ribs.

“Okay, just give me one question. One question and I’ll drop the whole thing, okay?”

Steve took in Tony’s expression, the pleading in his eyes, and nodded once.

“Why did you stop taking your meds?”

Steve’s skin had been kind of sickly for a few days now, a combination of lack of sun and lack of sleep. Now, it looked ghostly. “They make me dream. Ever since that mission… It’s all I dream about and I can’t keep dreaming about it.” Steve’s eyes with flints of steel when he finally made eye contact with Tony. “Now, what’s your story? I’ve been watching you and you’re taking more than your prescription recommends when you think I’m not looking.”

It was Tony’s turn to fidget. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Tony didn’t know what to say. Obviously, no one ever wanted to admit to abusing their meds. Ever. But the reasoning was even worse than the abuse itself. Because _Steve was the reason._ Lately, Tony couldn’t focus on anything between worrying about Peter’s worsening anxiety (or whatever the fuck was really going on with his teenage son) and Steve’s PTSD.

The Stark-Rogers home was in shambles and there wasn’t room for Tony to be stuck in his head. He wasn’t allowed to take a mental health day himself because every day was either a mental health day for Steve or Peter or the both of them.

It was so selfish that Tony’s neck flushed from embarrassment over even thinking that.

Steve and Peter were not burdens. He was just too weak to carry them right now.

“It’s Peter,” Tony finally said. He wasn’t lying. Just omitting certain truths. “I’ve been worried about him and instead of dealing with it, I may have taken an extra Xanny-”

“Or two,” Steve interjected.

“Or two,” Tony allowed. Maybe even three or four if he was being entirely honest with himself. “But I’ll stop. It’s not a good example to set for our son and it’s probably not the best path to start down. See? I’m making healthy choices and everything. A whole new man.”

Steve wasn’t smiling with him though. He was grimacing. “Tony, this is serious. Taking extra meds isn’t-”

“I know that, okay? I know all about abusing pills and powders and the happy little substances. I went to AA, Steve. I know.” He caught himself before he could begin chewing on his nails and tucked his fingers against his palms. “I promise. I won’t go above the dosage on the label again.”

Steve didn’t say anything to that, just dropped his face into his hands and breathed.

Tony slid up beside him, tucking himself into Steve’s side and draping one arm across his back.

“I won’t ask you to sleep, Steve. I want you to, but I won’t ask you to,” Tony whispered against his husband’s hair, his breath rustling the golden strands. “But I will make sure that when you want to sleep, or when you need it, I’m right here with you from when you fall asleep until you wake up.”

Steve melted into Tony’s arms a little. “I’m still mad at you, Tony.” But his words didn’t hold any of the venom from before. They were breathy. Exhausted.

“I know.”

Steve yawned. “So mad.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m serious.”

“You always are, Spangles.”

Steve shifted so his whole body was resting against Tony’s, head pillowed right above the arc reactor. The couch was much too small for two grown men, especially when one of them was the size of a small truck, but neither suggested moving in case it ruined the tentative serenity of the moment.

Tony pulled a blanket over both of them.

Steve thought about saying something, something about the pills or the nightmares or their son, but by the time he had the words, he was too close to sleep to figure out how to make his mouth say them.

#

Four and a half hours.

That was how long Tony laid on the glorified frat couch in his workspace while Steve cut off the circulation to half of his limbs.

Fortunately, one hand and one leg had escaped the unmovable lump of Steve and Tony managed to prop his tablet on one knee while his fingers danced over the touch screen, adjusting and editing things as well as he could with only one hand and limited visuals.

As irritated as Tony was that he couldn’t work right now, or at least work off some of the caffeine pills he swallowed twenty minutes before Steve fell asleep, he wouldn’t trade his position for anything.

Because Steve was taking a nap, and while getting sleep was good, Mr. Righteous and Right sleeping during the day was a red alarm if Tony had ever seen one.

Steve never napped. He sometimes ‘rested’ (by reading a book or doing something else that only geriatrics did) but never napped. There was a signature Steve lecture in the archives all about napping and ‘how naps were only for people who couldn’t find the discipline to manage a healthy sleep schedule.’

Peter may have slinked out of the room during that one. And aptly put a mild sedative in Steve’s next drink.

Yeah, okay, maybe Peter did that under certain orders. From a certain parent.

Whatever. It was funny.

Steve stirred, pulling Tony from his thoughts. Steve shifted his whole weight and almost broke a couple of Tony’s ribs in the process.

Time to move before he became a genius pancake.

Tony gently pulled himself out from under his husband and made his way upstairs.

He needed to check on the monkey.

“JARVIS? Where’s the kid?”

_“Master Peter is currently in the exercise room. Should I call him up?”_

Weird. Peter was suddenly interested in physical fitness? Since when? What happened to the Spider-Man who only wanted junk food and classic science fiction films?

But Peter was weird, so Tony shrugged it off, glad he wasn’t playing with C4 in the living room or something like that. “No, it’s fine. Let him know I’m in the living room if he needs anything. Steve should still be sleeping in the lab so make sure Peter stays out of there.”

“ _Understood sir.”_

#

“ _Master Peter, I think you should take a break soon. You’ve been running for quite some time now. Almost an hour and a half.”_

Peter would’ve grit his teeth but even his jaw was too weak to clench. His whole body was gelatinous from the run. The only reason he was still moving was he couldn’t get his hand high enough to hit the ‘STOP’ button on the machine.

He didn’t need to stop.

He was fine.

“I-I’m-” Deep breaths were hard. Peter couldn’t get enough air to speak. So he settled for shaking his head. Jarvis had cameras, right? He didn’t need verbal commands.

_“Master Peter, you-”_

“Stop!” Peter hissed, his legs pumping harder with the adrenaline rush. “Stop. I’m… fine. Tired. Fine.”

“ _You threw up an hour ago sir. I don’t think that constitutes as fine.”_

Peter rolled his eyes. He only threw up because he got on the treadmill after breakfast and big meals don’t agree with distance cardio.

It wasn’t like he shoved some fingers down his throat or something.

People threw up during workouts all the time.

It was fine.

He was fine.

Jarvis just needed to _leave him alone_.

Once Peter finishes this run, he will have burned a good chunk of his breakfast off. He would be back on his way to superhero fitness.

The black spots started to dance again. He had seen them a few times in the last hour, every visit lasting longer than the one before it, but they were harmless. Just weakness and donuts leaving the body, right?

_“Master Peter, I really must suggest that-”_

Peter didn’t hear what Jarvis was going to suggest. Before he could finally reach up and hit the ‘STOP’ button on the machine, the black spots grew and took over his vision completely.

Peter was out before his head hit the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: disordered eating, PTSD, anxiety, substance use/abuse


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back with another chapter! This one felt a bit like a filler chapter (sorry everybody!) but I promise, I'm setting things up for a big, big problem our boys will just have to figure out. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and content warnings are at the end of the chapter!

When Peter woke up, Jarvis was talking. Going on and on about something or other in his gratingly monotonous tone. But Peter couldn’t understand anything over the ringing noise in his ears.

He was laid out on the ground, cheek against something cold. His head was pounding and his fingers splayed over something hard and smooth. Hardwood.

With a groan, he pushed himself up to his elbows and tried to piece together what happened. But Peter’s arms were slick with sweat and sent him back down to the ground, landing on his jaw.

Grimacing in pain, he carefully lifted himself up again.

He was laying on the floor in the Tower’s gym.

How did he…?

Oh.

Right.

He was running before, up on the treadmill, and now he was tentatively fingering a bruise along the ridge of his left cheekbone.

Had he fallen and passed out? Or passed out and then fallen?

Peter wanted to stand up and shake it off but his whole body ached from the impact. Just touching his cheek took enough energy to reignite the black dots in his vision. Instead, he rolled onto his back and finally tuned in to Jarvis’s ramblings.

“- _fathers are on their way right now, Master Peter, just try to relax.”_

That was all it took to launch Peter to his feet.

But he stood up too fast and simply tipped back to the floor in the opposite direction.

“ _Try not to stand up, sir. You took quite the fall-”_

“Jarvis,” Peter croaked before launching into a coughing fit. His lungs felt like they were stuffed with sandpaper. He needed water. “Tell them I’m fine. Don’t-”

“Peter!”

Steve was at his side, hands on his son’s face, before Peter could try and pull himself up again.

The overly bright florescent lights of the gym weren’t helping him to focus in on his Pops’ face. Peter blinked until Steve’s worried eyes and locked jaw came into view. “What happened? Jarvis said you passed out on the treadmill and flew across the room.”

Crashing footsteps announced Tony’s entrance before his aggressive swearing started up. “Kid, I would say something about you flying across the room like Spider-Man, but, well-”

“Tony-” Steve started.

Tony knelt beside Steve and waved him off. “What the hell happened?”

“ _Well, sir, as I told you earlier-”_

“He wasn’t asking you, Jarvis,” Steve snapped.

A hand came to rest on Peter’s chest and since both of his dads could hover with the best of them, he didn’t even know whose hand it was.

“Peter, you’re soaked,” Steve said, “How long were you down here?”

They were concerned. They loved him. They actually, honestly cared. But all Peter wanted to push his dads away.

He didn’t want them to ask questions or put together the pieces as to how or why exactly he was currently laying in a puddle of his own sweat and unable to get up off the floor.

The dieting website, the one he found on social media, said all of this was normal.

That his body would need time to readjust to his new caloric intake and the lack of fats and carbs. It was natural.

“Dad, Pops, I’m fine,” Peter managed. His throat was so scratchy he had to say it twice for them to understand him. “I just overdid it. I was trying to beat my personal-” But the coughing choked off his words and hands were pulling him up until he was sitting, his thighs and ass struggling to keep traction with the puddle of sweat underneath him.

Man, he was really soaked.

“Peter, you’re covered in sweat,” Tony said like it was a question. “Since when is distance running your thing?”

“How long were you running for?” Steve asked, examining Peter’s arms and legs for bruises.

“Pops, it wasn’t that. I was just in the zone and got dizzy.”

Tony’s arms were crossed and he didn’t look convinced. Steve’s worry was the only emotion Peter could read off of him.

“Give me a minute, okay?” Peter gently pried Steve’s hands from his shoulders and dropped his face between his knees. “I’ll be fine.”

“Peter-”

“Dad. I’m fine. Please. I just-” Peter could feel his chest constricting. Slowly, but surely, like the grasp of a boa constrictor. “Space.” The last word was pushed between his teeth, almost hissed- “please.”

That was enough. ‘Space’ was something they all understood. Tony gently pulled Steve closer to him and further from their son.

Peter just sat there, breathing. Trying to breath.

“C’mon, kid.” Tony said, moving so he was sitting directly in front of Peter, the gentle hum of the arc reactor the only noise in the room besides Peter’s staccato breaths. “In. Out. Slowly. You can do it.”

Steve clasped his own hands tight against his stomach as Tony talked Peter down. Steve was useless in these situations. Completely and totally useless.

“I’ll give you two some space,” Steve whispered just loud enough for Tony to hear.

Tony didn’t say anything back but Steve could tell he had heard him.

Once he was out of the gym, Steve ran back upstairs and slammed his bedroom door hard enough to rattle the door in its frame. It was that or scream. And screaming would just scare Peter more and distract Tony from taking care of their son.

Steve’s eyes burned but he wasn’t going to cry. He was angry. Pissed off.

His fists were clenched at his side and he lifted them up in front of his face.

His hands were large, the kind of large that made other men’s hands look dwarfed. They were rough with calluses. Usually, they ran warm.

Peter had pulled his hands off. He hadn’t wanted him, his own Pops, to touch him.

What had Steve done wrong?

It always worked when Tony did it.

But maybe that was it. Maybe Peter just didn’t want Steve; he wanted Tony.

Steve’s eyes burned a bit more.

Of course Peter wanted Tony. They were two peas in a pod. Science and math proteges. Geniuses. Quirky, funny. Wild on the surface, in different ways, but kind at their cores. Both open with their struggles with anxiety and able to be there for each other in easy ways Steve couldn’t replicate.

What did Steve have in common with them? Why would Peter possibly want Steve when Tony was right there and easier for him to be with?

Parenting was hard. Steve knew that.

But it felt harder when things like this happened. Things that confirmed what Steve had known the first time Peter showed promise at a science fair or watched a horror movie without flinching.

Steve was the odd man out. A second choice father.

He needed some space, some time.

With a grimace, Steve grabbed a jacket and went out.

It was okay. Tony had Peter.

#

People always said karma was a bitch but Tony saw karma as more of a conniving motherfucker with impeccably poor timing.

Peter was showering off the full body sweat he’d worked up during his run- which Tony fully intended to grill him about later because since when was Peter into fitness?- when Jarvis informed Tony that there was a S.H.I.E.L.D. assignment waiting for him on his desk and Fury had labeled it ‘ _URGENT_.’

“Fuck you and your eye patch,” Tony grumbled, taking the file into his hands and sifting through it.

By the time he was done, he was ready to choke Fury out, Hulk-style.

“Jarvis.”

“ _Yes, sir?”_

“Prep the quinjet. Our pre-pubescent bastard is back.”

Of course.

Of fucking course he had to leave now, in the middle of whatever- whatever _this_ was.

“Tell Steve to meet me in the kitchen.”

“ _Yes, sir.”_

#

“Tony, there’s no way I’m letting you go by yourself. Not without knowing-”

“Steve,” Tony reasoned. He already had a headache from screaming at someone from S.H.I.E.L.D. He didn’t need to make it worse by yelling at his husband. “This isn’t about me and you or wanting you to come or not. This is about going after a sick bastard who already got super serum DNA once and will try again if given the chance. We underestimated this kid-”

“Brandon.”

“Wow, his parents really set him up for this life, didn’t they?”

“Tony.”

“Steve, giving someone a trust fund and a name like that… you’re giving them a golden ticket for super-villain-ry.” Steve was not entertained. Harsh crowd. “But I digress. There’s no way I’m letting him anywhere near you. None. Not again. Not after last time.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Tony, stop acting like this is about my DNA. You just don’t want me to break down ag-”

“Cut that out,” Tony snapped. “That is not what this is about.”

Steve crossed his arms, biceps bulging, and stared Tony down. Tony stared back.

Two could play in a game of stubborn will.

Honestly, so could their son, but that was nature, clearly. Not nurture.

“Steve. This is about your DNA, your superhero creating DNA. That, in the wrong hands, could start world wars and just as easily end them.” Tony rubbed his eyes and checked over his and Steve’s shoulders. They were still alone. “But… this is also about Peter. Something is up with him, Steve. I don’t know what it is, or if I’m just worrying for no reason, but I need you to watch him.

“Trust me, I would hand off this baton quicker than Peter passing up on eating his veggies, but I’m the only Avenger available who knows shit about technology and science. Even if I let Nat, Clint, and Thor handle this mission alone, one of those dodos will accidentally grab a futuristic nail clipper instead of the devices or samples we need.”

Steve’s shoulders deflated a little but his face was still stoic and cold.

“Steve.” Tony cupped his face and tried to get Steve to look him in the eyes. Unfortunately, their height difference meant all Steve had to do was look straight ahead to ignore Tony. “You know this is not about what happened in the quinjet or about me or anyone thinking you’re not fit for duty. This is about national security and keeping someone here with our son.”

Steve’s eyes dropped from seeking out the wall and found Tony’s. “How long are you going to be gone?”

“A day or two at most. I let Fury know that I was pissed over having to go at all and I think he understands the longer they keep me tied down, the higher the chance of me going AWOL and abandoning the mission all together, Brandon be damned.”

“Fine.” Steve kissed Tony quickly, chastely, before turning on his heel and walking towards the elevator. “I’ll be here.”

“Where are you going?”

“On a walk.”

Steve had just gone on a walk under an hour ago. “Again?”

“Fresh air is good for the soul, Tony.”

Tony smiled until the elevator doors closed and then dropped his face into his palms massaging his temples.

Steve was talking ‘walks.’ Mysteriously, long, walks.

Peter passed out on the treadmill.

Tony’s eye twitch may or may not have started up again right before Fury’s number popped up on his phone.

#

“Dad, you just got back!”

Peter’s voice followed Tony into his lab where he was trying to make a last minute repair on one of the gears in the face plate of the Iron Man suit.

“Peter, you know I wouldn’t be going unless I had no choice. It’s about the last mission.”

Peter spluttered, “But Dad-”

“Kid.” Tony turned to his son, taking him in. Peter’s hair was still dripping down the sides of his face from his shower. Maybe it was just the refraction of the light in the lab, but Peter’s cheeks looked sharper. So did his jaw.

Peter was sharper. Thinner.

The gears turned, the hypothetical ones Tony always pictured when he thought of the inner workings of his own mind.

Little things clicked into place. Skipping meals, the exercise, the random walks Peter went on…

Was Peter…?

“Peter.”

Peter’s face went milky when he saw the change in Tony’s face from gentle admonishment to concern. “Yeah?”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Peter’s eyes flicked to the carpet for a second, maybe not even a full second, but that said it all. “Dad, what are you-”

“I asked you a question. A relatively simple one, I think. Peter Stark-Rogers, when was the last time you ate?”

“I ate breakfast with Pops,” Peter snapped. Tony almost stepped back at the shift. He would’ve flinched if he hadn’t been leaning on a worktable. “You saw us. Why are you asking me this?”

“You’re right. I saw you this morning.” Tony’s tone was deceptively nonchalant. The tone he used when he had caught someone in a lie and both parties knew it. “But what about yesterday? Give me a summary.”

“Uh, I don’t know. Dad, how am I supposed to remember what I ate yesterday? I don’t even remember what I ate for breakfast.” That was a lie. Peter could list off every single item with perfect accuracy if prompted. With the amount of mental energy he dedicated to food, he could probably tell Tony his entire dietary history for the last week.

“Peter, you-”

“You know what?” Peter snapped his fingers and touched his chin thoughtfully. “How about we talk about something more interesting? I ate food yesterday, okay? I don’t remember what, because I left my food diary in Queens, but let’s just skip this part. Let’s go back to you going on another mission tonight after what happened last time with-”

“Pops is staying here with you. Don’t worry about that. Back to-”

“Dad, please, just-”

Tony felt stupid. So, so, stupid. Because there was a perfectly simple and easy to access way to find out what exactly Peter had been up to. “Jarvis, what exactly did Peter eat yesterday?”

Peter blanched and yelped. “Jarvis, don’t! Code six two six!”

“ _Code six two six activated, Master Peter. Data deleted.”_

Tony didn’t react at first. He didn’t know how to.

His son had programmed a self-destruct code in Jarvis without his permission. Peter had gotten through Stark firewalls and successfully hacked into the Tower’s defense system.

But more importantly, Peter had revealed this information in order to hide what he’d been eating. Or, if Tony was on the right track, what he hadn’t been eating.

“Peter, what’s going on?”

Peter smiled, his eyes just a little too wild. “Nothing! I just didn’t want you to figure out how many of Steve’s moon pies I ate.” Peter patted his gut. “I might have caught diabetes.”

Tony wasn’t buying any of it. Not a single word.

But he also needed to deal with this particular issue _after_ he got back. When Tony could help watch Peter and make sure whatever his son was going through was handled with all the sensitivity and care Tony wished his own teenage angsts had been handled with.

Tony did _not_ need to confront Peter on his possible disordered eating right before he left for a mission and Steve…

Shit, Steve was in the red, too.

Tony was leaving his insomniac husband struggling with PTSD flashbacks with his son who stopped eating.

And it was a recipe for a fucking explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: disordered eating, discussions of disordered eating


	10. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope the holiday season is treating you well and if it isn't, fuck corporations for making us care about the holidays in the first place. I've been really struggling to manage my time post-finals but hopefully, I'll get into a nice writing rhythm and be able to post a bunch of chapters before classes start up again.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who leaves kudos and comments. Reading (and rereading) your kind words really does encourage me and reminds me the little writing voices that say "your work sucks, no one cares, why are you even trying" are jealous little assholes who wish they had a writing community like I do.
> 
> I love all of you and hope December treats you right. :)

“Is pizza okay?” Steve held up two menus, one in each hand. “We can order from that Italian place your dad likes so much. Or that hole in the wall down the block. You pick.”

Peter grimaced. Neither. He wanted neither. “Uh, the hole in the wall.” Smaller slices.

Steve nodded and called in the order. Tony had insisted Steve eat meals with their son to foster father-son bonding in light of the clusterfuck of that morning. Steve wasn’t sure why meals were the answer- not training or something else- but he wasn’t going to argue with spending more time with his kid.

Especially when every time Steve saw him, he looked… less, somehow. Less like Peter. Less present.

Steve shook the thought away and went to tidy up the kitchen. Anything to keep his mind from getting stuck in a rut that _something is wrong with Peter something is wrong with Peter something is wrong with Peter._

Meanwhile, Peter had slipped off to his new favorite place to hide. 

The bathroom.

It was quiet, it had a lock, and he could spend absurd amounts of time in there without any questions.

Steve and Tony probably thought he had indigestion or Playboys tucked away somewhere. The last one made Peter’s stomach curdle. But he needed to keep up the illusion. His mirror pep talks were the most effective way for him to keep up his diet.

Peter gave himself his latest pep talk while Steve went to the front door to get the pizza.

“You are stronger than this,” he murmured to his reflection, taking all of it in. His sallow skin, his plump cheeks grandmothers loved to pinch, his wide eyes. He was equal parts terrified of dinner, equal parts exhilarated.

If he could get away with eating nothing, he was back on track. 

If he ate pizza… he would need to find a way to undo it. Just like this morning.

This was a challenge. A puzzle. A basic math problem.

Peter plus too much bad food equaled a useless superhero. 

Peter minus bad food equaled someone who could save the world, just like his dads.

“You can do this. It’s no big deal.”

“Peter!” Steve yelled from the kitchen. “Pizza!”

Peter took one last look at his face. Picked out the areas that would be improved upon without pizza in his system. His jaw would be stronger, his cheeks less childlike. He would look like a man, not a boy.

“Coming, Pops!” Peter replied and emerged from the bathroom. “Hey, can we watch a movie while we eat?”

Steve’s face broke into a smile. “Sure. You pick.”

Peter grinned back.

Pro tip: it was easier to not eat when someone was watching the TV instead of you.

It worked perfectly. Peter would take a fake bite, chew, and pull off pieces of the pizza slice and shove them into his napkin.

Steve was watching the movie, completely oblivious.

At least that’s what Peter thought.

#

_“Tony, are you busy?”_

Tony glanced up at Clint, phone to his ear, and cocked an eyebrow. They were in the middle of a game of high stakes poker while Nat took one for the team by letting the rookie from S.H.I.E.L.D. debrief her. She was then going to repeat the useful bits to Tony, Clint, and Thor. Rapunzel himself would meet them on location.

“Go,” Clint hissed and waved Tony away. “My hand was shit anyway.”

Tony mouthed ‘thank you’ and stood up. “No, I’m free, Steve. Give me a minute.”

Tony found an empty room on the ship and fell into a chair. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Steve never called him during a mission unless it was important. 

Whatever this was… he probably needed to be sitting down. 

“Alright. I’m alone.” 

Steve took a few seconds to reply. “ _It’s about Peter.”_

Tony grimaced. Of course it was. “Just tell me, Steve.”

_“I-I don’t really- I don’t know how to… Damn it. Maybe I’m just overreacting and working myself up over nothing.”_

_Or maybe you’re more intuitive than you give yourself credit for,_ Tony thought. “Steve, please. Just tell me.”

Confirm what Tony already knew but refused to believe.

“ _So, I did what you asked. I ordered a pizza with Peter and we watched a movie together. It was nice to spend some time with him, you know? But I cleared the trash and- Tony… I don’t think he ate anything. Which wasn’t weird considering the day he’s had. I might not be in the mood for pizza either, if I was him… But he pulled the pizza into pieces and hid it in his napkin. Like he wanted me to think he ate something even though he didn’t. Why- why would he- why did he do that? Why not just tell me he wasn’t hungry or ask for something else?”_

Tony’s hand was shaking so hard he had to use both hands to hold the phone to his ear. “Shit, Steve.”

Steve didn’t say anything back, just breathed into the phone. He sounded just as worried as Tony felt.

“Okay,” Tony said. “Okay.”

But none of this was okay. Peter wasn’t eating. Peter had passed out on the treadmill. Peter probably wasn’t sleeping again, too, and Steve himself was still reeling from almost dying during their last mission. And Tony was on the damned quinjet heading across the country.

“I’m going to be home as soon as I possibly can, Steve. I promise.” Tony didn’t have any reassurances. He didn’t have any advice. He didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t nightmares or panic attacks or PTSD. There wasn’t a S.H.I.E.L.D. mandated training module on what to do when your son… when Peter needed help with something _like this_. “Try to watch him, alright? Make sure he’s eating something, even if it’s not much. We can handle it when I get back. Together. I don’t want you to have to deal with this alone.”

Especially not when you’re two steps away from falling apart yourself.

“Tony, I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know what to do and he- Tony.” Steve’s voice dropped even lower. Quiet enough that Tony barely heard him. “He looks thin.”

Tony’s chest was getting tight. He wanted to comfort Steve, to offer meaningless platitudes and gentle affirmations. But he couldn’t find anything that sounded right. “I know. I’ll be back soon.”

_“Tony-”_

Tony needed to get off the phone. He needed to hang up before he got even more unsettled. This wasn’t a good way to prepare for a raid on a techno-genius’s house. He needed to have a clear head. “Steve, they’re calling us in for a meeting. I promise, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

Tony was a shit husband. Lying to get off the phone. The kind of bullshit he used to see Howard Stark do.

_“Okay,”_ Steve said, trying and failing to mask the panic and pain in his own voice. _“I love you, Tones.”_

“You too, Spangles.” With that, the phone finally slipped from Tony’s trembling hand. Tony swore when he saw that a corner of the screen had shattered.

He deserved it.

Tony was now the kind of husband who hung up on his panicking husband so he could have a minute with his own panicking thoughts. Steve was probably worse off than he was right now and Tony hung up. Tony hung up because he couldn’t _fucking_ _deal with it_ right now.

He dropped his head between his knees, tried to breathe.

Peter’s smiling face was all he could see. 

Peter- happy, lively, ray-of-fucking-sunshine Peter.

_He wasn’t eating. He wasn’t eating. He wasn’t eating._

Tony took another deep breath, ran his hands down his face, let the breath out.

Okay. Logic. Time for logic.

Tony’s brain was built for logic. He was a human supercomputer. Facts. He could think about facts. He needed to focus on the facts.

Peter was skipping meals.

Peter had lied about his meals to both Steve and Tony.

Peter had been in a complete panic when Jarvis was about to disclose his food intake for the previous day.

Peter was a superhuman, like Steve, and needed more calories a day than the average teenage boy. Teenage boys, on average, ate their weight every few hours. Peter needed even more than that.

It was likely Peter had been like this for a few days at least, maybe even a week or two.

“Fuck, kid,” Tony whispered. “What are you trying to do? Kill yourself?”

As soon as Tony got home, he was going to figure all of it out. 

Because Peter didn’t understand.

Skipping a few meals while human? Unhealthy, bad habit, the newest ‘diet fad.’

Skipping a few meals with the super metabolism Steve and Peter possessed? Dangerous. 

A skipped meal was closer to a skipped day.

Peter couldn’t go on like that for much longer. Not before-

“Twelve hours,” Tony mumbled to himself. “Twelve hours.”

Fury got twelve hours before Tony turned the jet around to go be with his family.

He wasn’t going to save the world if it meant he couldn’t save his son.

Before heading back to their poker game, Tony shakily typed out a text to Steve and hit send. It might have been kind of alarmist but he wouldn’t be able to focus on the mission if he didn’t send it.

_Make him eat something. He’ll probably fight you but it doesn’t matter._

Peter wasn’t going to die in one day. Peter had been injured and shot up and drugged and plenty of other things that should’ve killed him but didn’t.

Skipping meals for whatever reason… it was a bad habit. A dangerous habit.

Especially if…

Especially if Tony was right, and Peter’s weird weekend was a sign of an eating disorder.

#

Hundreds of miles away, Peter was trapped in his own personal hell.

“Peter, please. Just a slice.” Steve held the plate out, desperation leaking into his words.

“Pops, I feel sick- I think I ate something bad at breakfast.”

Steve’s eyebrows knitted together. “Peter that was over twelve hours ago. Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

Peter threw his hands up and groaned. “I’m practically an adult! I don’t have to tell you every time I get indigestion.”

“Peter,” Steve snapped. “Indigestion matters when you passed out earlier. It could be related.”

Great. Now his dads were going to hover because they thought he was sick. 

But maybe that would help him.

He could-

“Peter.” Steve held a hand up and waved it in front of his face. “Did you hear me?”

Peter tightened his arms across his ribs and scowled. It would be easier to focus if Steve wasn’t waving a slice of pizza in his face. “Yeah. Pops, it’s just a stomach thing, okay? I’ll be fine in the morning. Just- just leave me alone.”

Peter expected Steve to get angry or continue to fight him on it. 

Instead, Steve sighed. “The pizza will be in the fridge if you want some. Get some rest kid.”

Steve’s arms moved like he was going to pull Peter in for a hug and Peter turned on his heel in time to pretend he didn’t notice. He wasn’t mad at Steve but he didn’t want to hug him right now either. 

He needed some space. 

Peter disappeared into his room before the first tear trickled down Steve’s chin and he was none the wiser.

#

_He wouldn’t eat it. He went to bed instead, said he wasn’t feeling well._

Tony was watching Nat win all of Clint’s meager savings when his phone lit up with the notification.

“Well, fuck me,” Tony whispered and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” Clint said.

Nat smirked and showed her cards. Clint began to protest right as Nat held up a hand and turned back to Tony. “So. Which Stark-Rogers is that face about?”

“I’m not making a face.”

“You are making a face,” Clint reported.

Tony scowled at Clint before he could stop himself and Clint’s hands flew up in surrender. Both Nat and Clint’s eyes changed from humored to apprehensive.

“Tony, if you need to go home, we can-” Clint began.

“He’s saying it gently, but we don’t need you,” Nat finished.

But they did. Tony couldn’t leave them to handle this one on their own. Steve’s DNA was in the hands of some trust fund brat with a God complex and that was not a promising sign for the future of the human race.

Sometimes, Tony really hated being a hero.

This would be so much easier if he had less of a conscience. He needed to spend less time with Steve.

“It’s fine,” Tony lied, typing out a reply before Steve tried to call. He didn’t want anyone overhearing what was going on at home. It was a family matter. “Just some drama with everyone’s favorite angsty teen.”

“Peter is not an angsty teen.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow at Nat before turning back to Hawkeye. “Uh huh. Clearly you’ve never been around my son when we’re out of his favorite cereal. You would think his pet chihuahua had died.”

_Try again later. Tell me how it goes._

Steve’s reply came almost instantly.

_Tony, there’s something wrong. I can tell._

_I know. I’ll be back soon, okay? As soon as I catch this asshole._

“Tony, seriously, if you to need to-”

“Clint, why don’t you worry about funding your own brats’ college instead of worrying about my kid? Because I think Nat just smoked your ass again and you’re going to need to tap into your savings for that one.”

Clint didn’t even look at Nat’s cards. He just slammed his own down, let off a string of expletives that had both Tony and Nat chuckling, and walked off.

“How much did he have riding on that round?”

Nat shrugged. “I don’t think he knows so I’m gonna come up with a number before he gets back.”

“You’re evil.”

She leaned back and smiled. “Nah. Just gifted.”

#

The raid was easy.

Too easy. 

That little cheeky asshole was just sitting on a futon in the basement waiting for them to show up. His feet up on the coffee table, TV remote in one hand, a Mai Tai in the other.

“America’s greatest!” Brandon exclaimed, arms out in welcome. “How kind of you to break into my house and-”

Nat punched him in the face, knocking him out, before Tony could stop her.

“We might need to talk to him later,” Tony said.

“I’ll wake him if it comes to that.”

Clint whistled. “I don’t think his nose looked like that when we got here.”

“Probably not,” Tony said.

Nat shrugged and walked off to find the lab.

That, too, was too easy. It was unlocked and conveniently doubled as the home’s basement. The walls, ceiling, and floor were made of solid concrete, with a few vents built into the corners. The only stuff down there was discarded medical tubing, a few used syringes in a medical waste bin, and some old plastic sheeting.

“Guess he knew we were coming,” Tony mussed, pawing through the used syringes. They would take them back to the tower to see if they could figure out what had been inside them.

Of course, there was no sign of Steve’s sample.

“Alright. Let’s pack all of this up, grab the trust fund fetus, and get back on the jet,” Tony ordered. “Once the perimeter has been cleared and we’ve checked the rest of the house, there’s nothing more to do here. Nat can question the fetus with S.H.I.E.L.D. and I’ll work with Bruce to see what the hell all of this was used for.”

“Sure thing, _boss_ ,” Clint grumbled.

Tony practiced his sign language and Clint gestured right back.

Nat rolled her eyes at them and went back upstairs to help the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents clear the upstairs.

“We’re missing something here,” Clint said, scratching an arrow tip along the wall. “I don’t know what, but… something.”

“It just feels too easy.” Tony released his faceplate so he could rub the bridge of his nose. “That’s all.”

But Tony was wrong. If he hadn’t been so focused on Steve and Peter and the shitstorm brewing in the tower, he would have figured it out.

Something was indeed missing from their raid. Someone.

Someone currently fleeing the scene a few miles down on the beach, tract marks along one elbow, blond hair whipping behind her back.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had labeled her a non-threat.

That would come back to bite all of them in the ass.

#

“Peter? I’m going to bed. Do you need anything?”

Peter was sitting on his bed, stomach cramping as he fought the urge to ravage the kitchen.

During dinner, food was revolting. Calorie laden sludge he would not push past his lips.

Now, the hunger was a painful throb and all he could think about was eating. All the food he couldn’t eat, because he wanted to change, and all the food he wanted to eat, because he couldn’t eat it.

He pressed a palm right below his ribs. Peter could feel the empty spot. The missing bulge of his stomach where food would sit and soak after dinner.

But he hadn’t eaten dinner. He was on track.

“Peter?”

Peter took a deep breath through his nose, let it stutter past his lips. He was shaking again. Why was he shaking? Was it leftover nerves from Tony confronting him? Or shakiness because he was about to launch into a panic attack?

Whatever it was, he didn’t want Pops to see it. Not now. Not with Tony gone.

“Sorry, I- uh- I had headphones on. What did you say, Pops?”

“Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine. Just gonna get some sleep. Thanks, Pops.” Another steadying breath. “Good night.”

“Good night, Peter.”

Peter felt a hint of guilt. He knew he was upsetting his dads by pushing them away.

But it was for a good reason. He was going to help.

He moved his palm up, just a few inches, so it was right over his ribs.

The bones were at the surface, right beneath the skin.

Another breath.

He was going to be so much better.

A few minutes later, Peter fell asleep.

But Steve didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: disordered eating, body dysmorphia, anxiety and talk of panic attacks.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone! Man, I am so so so glad 2020 is over. Here's a new chapter to celebrate!

Tony got home during that fuzzy hour of the morning where he and Steve sometimes passed each other in the bedroom, Steve, getting up early, Tony, going to bed late.

Tony was twitchy. Anxious. Like he’d mainlined a few gallons of caffeine into his bloodstream. Nat and Clint didn’t ask any questions, just shoved him off the quinjet the moment the tires hit the helipad.

He loved them a little more for it.

Peter’s room was closest to the elevator, so Tony tried to check on him first. The door was locked.

Another red flag.

_He’s just looking for some privacy after whatever happened at dinner,_ Tony thought. That’s all it was, right? That’s all.

“Tony?”

Steve was standing in their kitchen, a mug gripped tight in one hand, the other palm balancing his weight against the counter. He looked like death warmed over.

“Steve.” Tony walked over, stopping only a few inches away. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

Steve leaned in, kissing Tony softly, before wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “I’m glad you’re here.”

_That wasn’t an answer._ “Steve, it’s almost five in the morning.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Not after- you know.” Steve melted against Tony, his arms heavy across Tony’s shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Tony gripped him tight. “Me, too.”

They stood there, like that, for a few minutes. Steve’s heartbeat slowing down as Tony’s breathing deepened. They weren’t okay. Not by a long shot. But they were better, just being together.

“Tony- I’m…”

“I know. I… I know.” Tony pulled back. “He locked the door. Did you get him to…”

Steve shook his head and ran a hand over his hair before crossing his arms. “He kept telling me he felt sick, so I let him go to bed. I wasn’t getting anywhere.”

“That’s okay. We’ll worry about it in the morning. C’mon. I need to shower and then we can try to-”

Tony’s hand was on Steve’s arm, urging his husband to follow him, but Steve didn’t move. He shook his head and ran his palms down his face. “Tony, I can’t. Not with- not knowing Peter…”

How could Steve go to bed knowing something was wrong with their son? Something this serious?

What if Peter got worse, or needed them, or wanted someone with him, or anything like that, and Steve was sleeping, completely oblivious, while his son suffered-

“Steve.” Tony reasoned, cupping the side of Steve’s neck. “He’s locked in his room, asleep. It’s almost five a.m. There’s nothing we can do right now except-”

“Tony, I need-”

“Sleep.” Tony said. “You need sleep. I need sleep. Peter needs sleep. All of us need to wake up in the morning with clear minds so we can have a serious conversation. This isn’t going to be something you can be foggy and exhausted for.”

Steve slowly let the mug clatter to the counter, the rattling of the ceramic on the granite subsiding once Steve released the handle.

Tony showered in record time, barely rinsing all of the shampoo out of his hair. Usually, the jets of warm water between his shoulders were his favorite part of coming home from a mission. Cleaning the silt and soot from his body as the heat eased the tension in his shoulders.

Tonight, every second under the spray was another second to stress over Steve and Peter and everything happening here.

It didn’t help that the mission was still lurking in the back of his mind. Something was wrong. They were missing something. Something big. Something-

Tony’s hand shot out and shut off the water.

_Focus, Stark. Family first, mission later._

Tony dried off, slipped into some clothes he could sleep in, and went back to the bedroom.

Steve was already sleeping.

“You’re killing me with this, Cap.”

Tony climbed in beside his husband. Usually, the heat emanating from the other body across the bed was enough to lull Tony to sleep, just like a lullaby.

Tonight, it wasn’t enough.

Tony faded in and out of a restless sleep for a few hours. After the sun had been up for an hour, Tony couldn’t take it.

He got up and put the coffee on.

Once Steve and Peter were awake…

Simply put, Tony was going to need the caffeine.

#

“Two hundred.”

Peter hissed in pain and finally let his back smack into the carpet.

His spine was raw with rug burn from doing sit ups in his underwear but it was going to be worth it.

His fingers danced over his stomach.

Flatter. With coarser ripples than before.

Progress. He was making progress.

Peter stood up and gripped the bedpost when his head swam. Damn, the dizziness felt worse today than yesterday in the exercise room. He needed to drink some water before he did something stupid like pass out in front of his dads again.

They might actually freak and take him to Uncle Bruce if that happened.

Peter cranked the water in his bathroom and hoped the noise wouldn’t wake Pops. It was a little after eight, so he was probably already awake, but Peter didn’t want to deal with that yet.

Something about last night felt tense and wrong. Like Peter not eating had given Steve a piece to a puzzle Peter didn’t even know his dad was trying to solve.

It made him nervous.

Originally, he was going to wash his face and get back in bed like that. But after a glance at his sweaty torso and the small rivulet of sweat trickling from his navel down his inner thigh, Peter realized he needed a real shower.

He cleaned off, wrapped a towel around his waist and dared to look in the mirror.

Using his hand to wipe the condensation off the mirror, Peter dared to look up and took his body in.

He wedged the fleshy bit of his palm between his teeth before he could sob verbally. Tears threatened to drip down his cheeks.

He was still… puffy. Soft. Terribly, terribly, far from his goal.

His spine was bruised from the sit ups and his eyes sallow and sunken from a sleepless night. His stomach heard the cue to throb and curled in on itself.

And all of it meant _nothing because Peter was still-_

Still-

He couldn’t even think the word.

Instead he gave up and cried in the bathroom at eight in the morning.

#

Tony was waiting in the kitchen when Peter came out of his room for a glass of water.

They locked eyes. Both stopped in place.

Tony was surprised by how terrible his son looked. He seemed sickly. But not just physically. There was something blank and desperate behind Peter’s eyes that made Tony’s blood run cold.

Peter was in shock because his dad was supposed to be across the country, fighting bad guys. Not staring at him across the hall like Peter was breaking his heart with every second.

“Peter, you…”

“Dad!”

If Peter acted normal, maybe Tony wouldn’t pick up where they left off before he boarded the quinjet.

So Peter rushed to his dad’s side and hugged him tight.

Tony’s hands squeezed back.

“Hey, kid.”

For a few seconds, Peter just held Tony tight and hoped that would be it. They would have breakfast as a family, talk about the mission and whatever they were going to do this weekend and that would be it. No talk of food, or the incident in the gym, or-

“We need to talk, Peter.”

“Dad, please-”

“Not this time, kid. This isn’t up for debate.”

Tony pulled away and sat at the kitchen table, gesturing for Peter to take the seat across from him.

Peter wanted nothing less but it would be too suspicious to walk away.

“So.” Tony took a menacing sip of coffee. “Talk to me. What the hell is going on, monkey?”

Peter crossed his arms. “Nothing is going on. I was sick yesterday. That’s all. You’re making this a way bigger deal-”

“Sorry, but I smell bullshit, so let’s try again.”

Peter’s knee started twitching. “Dad, I’m telling you the-”

“Peter Stark-Rogers,” Tony leaned over the table, the morning sun reflecting behind him like a defunct halo. “I’m serious. Whatever is going on, you’re not in trouble. But don’t lie to me about it. Don’t sit here and tell me you have the stomach flu or that nothing is wrong. Something is going on, kid. And I can’t help you, Pops can’t help you, unless you let us try.”

_I don’t want your help. I just want to be like you. And there’s no way for me to do_ that _unless I do_ this.

“Nothing is going on-”

“Okay.” Tony’s hands went up and out in surrender. “Fine. You’re right. Nothing is going on and I’m overreacting. Prove me wrong.”

Peter had been shaky and cold since he saw Tony standing in the kitchen. Now, he felt a full body tremor building at the base of his spine. “Wh-what are you talking about?”

Tony got up and went into their industrial pantry. Peter was worried if he tried to turn the chair and watch he might knock the chair over. His whole body weak with anxiety.

“Eat this.”

The words alone made Peter’s vision dance. The sight of the iconic silver foil in Tony’s hands made it worse.

He would have thrown up if there was enough in his stomach to throw up.

There was no way, _no way no way no way_ , Peter could eat _that_.

Especially when Tony’s fingers shifted as he sat back down and Peter realized Tony was holding not one packet of Pop-Tarts, but two.

Eight. Hundred. Calories.

There was no way he could eat that and not- not… _not feel it stick to his body_.

Something shifted in Tony’s eyes when he realized Peter was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Peter, hey,” Tony pushed the Pop-Tarts to the side and reached for one of his son’s hands. Peter curled his fists against his chest, out of his dad’s reach. “You don’t have to eat them, okay? I don’t want to eat them either. But we need to talk about what you have been eating. Because I don’t think you’ve been eating, kid.”

Peter could tell he was on the verge of tears and the humiliation of crying over snack food made him want to cry even more. Ever since this diet started, he was always crying and panicking and having breakdowns over the tiniest things. He hated it. “Please don’t make me eat those, Dad. Please. I can’t! I can’t eat those. They- they’re bad for me.”

Peter’s words hit Tony right in the solar plexus. Knocked the wind right out of him.

His theory was right.

Peter wasn’t…

“You don’t have to eat them, okay? No one is going to make you.”

The first stray tear trickled off of Peter’s jaw.

“Kid, you don’t have to eat them. I meant that. But you need to talk to me. I need you to tell me what is going on because something is wrong. I’m your dad. I can see it.”

“Dad, I’m-”

“Fine people don’t cry over Pop-Tarts, monkey,” Tony said, his voice barely carrying. He looked emotional himself. “But it’s okay not to be fine. I just want you to tell me what’s going on so we can find a way to get back to fine.”

That had Peter seeing stars.

He didn’t want to go back to the way things were. He didn’t want to be soft, weak Peter _Parker._ He wanted to become a new, stronger Peter _Stark-Rogers_. He needed to earn his last name.

Why didn’t Tony see that this was the way to do that?

“Dad, you wouldn’t understand, okay? You don’t know- you don’t know what it’s like.”

Tony’s eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t understand. Kid, that’s why I want you to tell me what’s happening.”

“I-I can’t do that.” Peter growled in frustration and pawed at his face. “You just won’t get it! Okay? You won’t- you can’t understand because you’re-”

Tony waited. He wanted to cut Peter off- tell him he was wrong, he would understand- but Peter needed to get this off his chest.

“Because… because you’re Iron Man, okay?” Peter shook, trembled painfully, but his voice was forceful. “You can’t understand because you’re _you_ , Dad! I’m not you! I’m not Pops! I can’t be like you guys- brave and strong and _muscular_! Instead… look at me!” Peter was shamelessly crying now. He motioned to himself. “I’m pathetic, Dad. I’m weak and pathetic and nothing like you guys.”

“Peter.”

At first, Peter couldn’t tell why Tony’s voice felt like it was coming from behind him. He was half blind from the tears and half deaf from the rage pounding in his ears.

Then, a hand fell on his shoulder and gently turned his chair to the side.

“Peter, how can you say that?” Steve asked, his exhausted eyes searching his son’s. He knelt in front of Peter so they were about level. “You’re not pathetic. You’re a city-wide hero and you haven’t even finished high school. You have a mind that rivals, if not surpasses, your dad’s and he’s the smartest man I’ve ever met. You’re kind and funny, two things the world could always use more of. You are not pathetic.”

“Pops,” Peter whispered, refusing to look at either of his fathers. “You have to say that. You’re my dad.”

“Peter, Pops is right.” Tony added. “You’re not pathetic.”

Steve wanted to pull Peter into his arms. Wipe the tears off his son’s face with the pads of his fingers and kiss where his hair fell against his forehead. Hold him close until he remembered that he was anything but pathetic.

But his mind flashed back to the night before when Peter scurried off like being touched by Steve burned his skin.

“Peter, talk to us.” Tony begged.

Steve gave in and dropped a hand on his son’s knee.

Peter jumped up like he had been electrocuted and made it to the elevator before either one of them could stop him.

“I’m sorry,” said Peter, right as the elevator doors began to close around him.

“Peter!” Tony yelled. “Get back in here, right now!”

“No!”

Both Tony and Steve were taken aback. Peter was whiny, and difficult, and a tad hormonal.

He was never hostile.

They wasted a few precious seconds staring at each other, jaws slack, while the doors clanged shut and their son disappeared down the elevator shaft.

“Jarvis, where is he going?” whispered Tony when he finally found his voice again.

“I’m sorry, sir. Master Peter instructed me not to say.”

Steve looked pale, even compared to that morning when Tony had come in. “Peter is programming Jarvis now? How did he- when did he do that?”

“I don’t know, Steve. But I’m going to be honest with you.” Tony pushed back from the table and began searching for his jacket. “It scares the hell out of me.”

Steve caught on and went to get dressed himself. They couldn’t comb the streets for their son with Steve in his underwear. “Yeah, me, too.”

“Steve!”

Steve turned around, one hand on the doorpost, the other clenched at his side.

“I’m-” Tony’s eyes were wide, his face slack. He was scared. “I don’t-”

“I know,” Steve murmured. “I know.”

#

Peter had no idea where he was going.

He wasn’t wearing shoes or a jacket. Just fleece Spider-Man PJ pants and an old MIT hoodie he stole from Tony’s closet.

He wasn’t dressed to be on the run.

His bare feet slapped against the concrete sidewalks of Manhattan as he pulled his hood tighter to hide his face. This outfit wasn’t suited for the eleven o’clock news, either, and he couldn’t risk being photographed right now.

He needed to get out of Manhattan. He could lay low in Queens for the day. Camp out somewhere. Figure out what he was going to do about his dads.

Peter would need to take a bus or the train over to Queens. Usually he would swing, but incognito Spider-Man meant no web shooters. Besides, he had left them at the tower anyway.

He found a bus, because no wallet meant no trains or subways, and slipped into the back row before anyone recognized him.

Pillowing his head against his arm, Peter tried to sleep.

It was a long ride to Queens.

#

“Where would he go?”

Tony shrugged. “School? Ned’s? He wouldn’t go to any of the Stark Industries offices or to any of the other Avengers. He knows we’d find him.”

“What about that bodega he used to get sandwiches from? He went there almost every day last summer.” Steve offered, tucking his hands further into his jacket pockets. An icy breeze was coming off the Hudson and Steve could feel the cold in his bones.

Peter was out in this weather without shoes or a coat.

_What was he thinking?_

“I don’t think he’s in the mood for a sandwich right now,” said Tony.

“Why not- oh. Right.”

Tony pushed his sunglasses up higher and tugged his baseball cap down over his brow. “We’ll find him. He’s probably pouting somewhere at school. I’ll text Ned and MJ real quick. Make sure he isn’t hiding with them.”

“Do you think they’ll tell us if he’s there?”

Tony smiled. “I’m pretty sure Ned would do anything I asked him to. MJ will sell Peter out because she thinks it’s funny.”

Steve wasn’t comforted by that at all but he tried to calm down. Peter was a teenage superhero. Not a missing toddler. He could handle the streets of New York for the duration of his temper tantrum.

“Let’s go find our son, Cap.”

They boarded the train for Queens and sat side by side, Tony’s fingers lacing with Steve’s.

“He’s fine,” Steve whispered. He was saying it for himself, but it couldn’t hurt for Tony to hear it, too. “He’s fine.”

#

By the time his bus made it to Queens, Peter was sluggish and even dizzier than he had been earlier that day. His head was pounding and his stomach was clenching like a fist.

When he stood up to get off at his stop, he tipped forward and almost faceplanted in the bus aisle.

“Hey, man, you good?”

Peter took a moment to school his expression before smiling up at the man, middle-aged and in a suit, and giving him a weary thumbs up. “Yeah, sorry. Stood up too fast. I’ve got a migraine.”

The man didn’t seem to buy it but nodded and went back to his phone.

Peter was standing on the curb, the bus pulling away in a puff of foul smoke, the screech of metal axles ringing in his ears. He was on limited time. He needed to find somewhere to settle in for a nap.

A nice rooftop lounge. There were plenty of Queens rooftops empty this time of year. He could find one near his school and relax until he was ready to go back to the tower.

Except… he couldn’t find a rooftop lounge because his web shooters were at the tower. Shit. He could climb the side of a building but he wasn’t sure he had the stamina for that right now.

“Awesome planning there, Peter,” he mumbled to himself, shoulders braced against the breeze. “Really, awesome. The school it is.”

His dads would find him sooner rather than later if he camped out at the school, but it was better than nothing. He could hide somewhere clever and maybe then they would miss him anyway.

He couldn’t stop the conversation Tony had begun that morning, but he could sure as hell delay it.

Pulling his hood tighter and tucking his hands into his armpits, Peter trekked to school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: eating disorders, anxiety, talk of mental illness and disorders.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! The spring semester is underway and I am already drowning in homework. Whelp. Guess it's great I have a stress relieving side hobby of writing fan-fiction then, huh? 
> 
> As always, content warnings are at the end of the chapter and I must warn you... the content in this chapter and the next one get pretty heavy

Tony’s phone kept going off in his pocket.

“MJ says she hasn’t heard from Peter today. Ditto on Ned. Ned offered me hourly updates, but I opted out.” Tony turned to Steve. “Anything from the team?”

Steve hated texting more than Tony hated decaf, but he’d painstakingly sent out texts to every member of the Avengers about his son’s whereabouts. “Nothing.”

“We’ll find him.”

Steve wasn’t worried about them finding Peter. Not at all. He was much more worried about what he and Tony would do, would say, when they did find him.

“Tony, what are we going to do?”

Tony knew what he meant without him clarify. “Figure it out as we go. He’s our son. Maybe there’s some parental instincts that’ll kick in. And there’s always the internet and whatever resources money can buy, right?”

Steve knew Tony was right. He was always right. He was Tony Stark, and if someone could figure it out, it was him.

Unfortunately for Steve, Tony was just as worried and confused and clueless as his husband.

#

Peter finally settled on an empty classroom in the newly renovated honors section of the school.

It felt weird and wrong to take a nap in the back of a classroom, but his legs wouldn’t make it all the way back to the tower. His eyes and head weren’t correct either. So he pillowed his head on his arm, curled up facing the wall, and closed his eyes.

Peter was so consumed by anxiety over his escape from the tower and the constant pulse of his hunger that he hadn’t noticed the blonde woman lurking in the hallway when he came in.

“Peter!” Came Steve’s voice. “What are you doing?”

Peter’s stomach sank further. “Pops, just leave me-”

By the time his Spidey sense kicked in- _SOS_ painting itself on the inside of his eyelids as Peter realized the voice was Steve’s but the steps were _too light, too slow_ \- a syringe caught him at the base of the neck and he didn’t stand a chance.

His vision swam as Mockingbird, who was much more than a tech billionaire’s girlfriend, rolled him onto his back and smiled down at him. She was still wearing her Greek letters with her blonde hair in a perfect messy bun.

“Nice to meet you, Peter. I know your dads.”

For the umpteenth time this week, Peter passed out.

#

Maybe it was parental instinct. Maybe it was superhero instinct.

Either way, a few blocks from their stop, Tony sat straight up and let out a string of expletives more colorful than Manhattan Pride.

Steve leaned forward and tried to get his husband to meet his eyes. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Because Tony couldn’t explain it. It was an electrical current popping along his spine. A voice murmuring that he needed to get to Peter _right now_. “Nothing, I’m just jumpy.”

Steve put a hand on Tony’s neck and kneaded his fingertips into his wire-tight muscles. It helped, a little.

_When I get my hands on you, kid,_ Tony thought, _you’re grounded until you’re old enough to move into assisted living._

_I just want him to be okay,_ Steve thought. _I just need him to be okay._

When they got to Queens, both heroes were on their feet before the bus sidled the curb.

Tony shamelessly shoved past an old man in the bus aisle, and the moment his toes hit the ground, began to run to the school.

Steve stopped to help the older man off the bus before sprinting after his husband. “Sorry about that, sir. We’re in a rush.”

The old man grumbled back some offensive racial slurs and Steve was tempted to push the man again himself.

Instead, he collected all of his self-control and ran after Tony. “ _Tony!_ Slow down!”

But Tony didn’t slow down. His arms pumped like pistons, his designer shoes slapping against the grimy sidewalk. _I’m not too late. I can’t be too late._

He didn’t know what he was too late for but he was late _for something_. He could feel it in the marrow of his bones.

Tony wished Happy was driving them because they would already be there. But Happy driving meant the paparazzi, and the last thing the Stark-Rogers wanted in this moment was paparazzi.

When Tony reached the school, he was out of breath and sweaty. His heart was smashing into his ribs and he was on his way to an anxiety attack. But there wasn’t time to stop, to catch his breath, to calm down.

His mind was sifting through images of Peter unconscious from dehydration or hunger, mangled from a fall because he was too weak to properly grip onto a wall, even-

_Stop._

_Cut it out, Stark. You’re not helping._

“Tony!”

Steve came up behind him and grabbed his shoulder.

Tony pulled away and marched up to the front doors of the school, yanking on the handles. “Steve it’s locked, how are we going to-”

Hands closed on Tony’s shoulders again but this time Tony couldn’t shake them off. “Tony. Take a breath.”

“Steve, we don’t have time for this!”

But Tony couldn’t shake Steve off. Steve was strong and stubborn and Tony was _maybe kind of not really_ panicking.

“Three breaths. Come on.”

Tony crossed his arms, his foot popping up and down like a jackhammer as he glared into Steve’s eyes. If he had lasers like that guy from X-Men, he would have burned two perfect holes in Steve’s blemish-free forehead.

Like a petulant child, Tony took three aggressive breaths before cocking an eyebrow. “There. I’m zen. Can we go find our son or do you need me to harmonize a chorus of kumbaya first?”

“Yeah, I love you, too, Tones.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but Steve was right. Even though he was trying his hardest not to show it, the breaths had worked. Steadied him. He didn’t feel like he was going to vibrate out of his skin anymore.

“How are we going to get in?” Tony asked, smacking his open palm against the door a couple of times. The only reply was the loud knocks echoing down the linoleum halls. “Or I guess a better question would be, if Peter got in there, how’d he do it?”

Steve looked up. “Probably the roof.”

_“Fuck!”_

Steve startled a bit. “Tony, it’s okay, we can-”

“We can what, Steve? We can help him? We can find him?” Tony dragged his hand under his nose before Steve could see that he was losing control of his emotions. “In case you missed it, we’re not doing very well on child raising. Our son is gone. He’s starving. He’s _not wearing shoes or a jacket._ We learned how to make sure he did that when he was a toddler! We’ll be contacted for celebrity guest staring on _How Shitty Can You Parent_ any minute now.”

Steve’s nose wrinkled. “Is that a real show?”

“That’s what you got out of that?” Tony inquired incredulously.

“I’m going to make you take deep breaths again if you don’t-”

“I am a free agent so you can’t-”

“Tony, I’m trying to help-”

“ _Controlling_!” Tony yelled in a singsong tone.

“Wait, Tony, is that-” Steve pointed up to the roof.

“I’m not falling for that!”

“No, I’m serious!” Steve bodily spun Tony around and Tony was embarrassed that it… did things to him… to be manhandled like that. “Isn’t that the billionaire’s girlfriend up there?”

“The… the what?”

“The guy you took into custody this morning. Isn’t that his girlfriend?”

Tony followed Steve’s finger and watched as a beautiful young woman ran across the roof of the school and leapt to the ground like the fall was nothing more than leaping off the bottom two steps. The fall should’ve broken her shins and knees on impact. Instead, she kept running, disappearing between two brick apartment buildings in a flash of pink.

“Oh, shit, Steve.”

Steve froze.

_She- was it possible-_

_Did she recreate the serum?_

“Tony, should we go after her?”

Tony looked up at him incredulously. “We need to find Peter. What if she was here for him?”

Wordlessly, Steve moved Tony aside and kicked the door of the school open, wood chips spraying across the floor as the door jam splintered.

Usually, Tony would make some smart ass comment about Captain America and destruction of property but he couldn’t think about anything other than his son.

If that was her… if that was the asshole who took Steve out back on the West Coast… What if she had done that to his son? Peter was special, like Steve, but he was just a teenager.

If that bitch did something to his son, she wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.

_“Peter!”_ Steve yelled, checking all the classrooms on the first level as Tony beelined for the stairwell.

“You check down here, I’ll take the second story.”

Steve nodded and ducked into another room.

Tony took the steps two at a time and almost fell flat on his face when he reached the top one.

It was wet. Someone had been here, cleaning, within the last few hours.

That would explain how Peter got in.

“Peter!” Tony called out.

Tony checked classroom after classroom. Each time he dared to look, his heart skipped a beat.

What if she-

What if Peter-

_Useless._

_You’re going to be useless if you start to panic. Find your son, chew him out for scaring the shit out of you, and then go punch things in the training room later to feel better._

Right as Tony could hear Steve’s boots smacking up the stairs behind him, movement at the end of the hall caught Tony’s eye. The last door of the honors wing was ajar and swinging closed slowly. The creaking echoed along the walls and Tony felt an icy rush in his veins.

_Peter Peter Peter._

He didn’t process running or pushing the door open or falling to his knees by the crumpled form at the back of the room facing the wall.

“Hey, kid,” he whispered, his voice cracking more than he wanted as he placed a hand on Peter’s chest. It was warm and full and moving.

He was alive.

_He was alive._

But right below his left ear, in the hollow space between his jaw and neck, was a bloody patch the size of a thumbnail.

Just like the one Steve had.

Tony didn’t know what this meant. Didn’t know what she wanted, if she had figured out what made Steve super, or was super herself and looking for a way to mass-produce it. All Tony knew was _she had touched his son_ and he wanted to kill her.

“Peter!” Steve dropped down beside him and pressed his ear to Peter’s chest. His shoulders drooped. “Oh thank God. I thought he was-”

Tony ran his palm along the base of Steve’s spine, letting him take a minute to catch his breath.

“Tony, she got him.” Steve gently turned Peter’s head so he could better see the small wound. Unconsciously, his other hand started rubbing the spot where his own cut had been. “What is she going to do with it?”

“I have no idea. But I’m going to text Fury from the car and get him to find out.”

Tony texted Happy to come get them at the school with one of the least flashy cars. Maybe the Audi or the scratched Ferrari. While Tony’s fingers flew across the keys, Steve took off his jacket and put it over Peter.

The dumb kid wasn’t even wearing shoes.

Steve placed the back of his hand against one of Peter’s cheek. It was like ice.

“Tony, tell Happy to bring blankets, socks, gloves… all of it.”

Peter was so cold. His hands and feet were bright red, his cheeks flushed.

Carefully, Steve sat him up and propped his head on his shoulder, hugging him tight to his chest.

_-the first thing he felt when the plane hit the ice floe was the cold air leaking in from a busted window-_

_-then the water came in, coating his fingers and the control panel-_

_-his hands were red and numb within minutes. His fingers stopped moving after-_

“Steve? Hey!”

Steve shook his head and tightened his arms around Peter. Peter was still cold, too cold, but he wasn’t shivering. That had to count. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I wasn’t saying anything,” Tony said, his eyes searching Steve’s a little too intently. “Happy is on his way. He’ll be here as soon as he can.”

Steve nodded, pulled the hood of his coat up around Peter’s ears. It was going to get blood on it, but that was fine. Steve could buy another coat.

“Let me get another look at his neck.”

Steve wanted to pull away, tell Tony _no_ , _let me warm him up first_ , but there was no logical reason to keep Tony from touching Peter. Tony loved Peter just as much as Steve did. He wouldn’t hurt him.

“It’s not even bleeding anymore,” Tony said, tugging the hood back in place. “I’ll clean it out and bandage it when we get home.”

“Tony, he feels so light.”

Tony’s chest squeezed as the reason for their trek across town came back to him.

The day started with Peter not eating and now some psycho was walking around with a hack job skin biopsy from the side of Peter’s neck.

One of Steve’s hands came up to the side of Peter’s face as Steve kissed his son’s forehead. Peter would never let him do that if he was awake. _Pops, gross._

“Let’s get him home, Tony.”

#

Peter’s head was pillowed on Tony’s lap as Steve wrestled Peter’s feet into two pairs of oversized socks.

“I mean, who walks around New York- _and takes the bus_ \- without shoes on?”

Tony gave Happy a look. “Clearly, my son does.”

“You might want to teach him not to do that.”

Steve gave Tony a pointed stare before Tony could cross over from snarky to snappy. Happy was trying to distract them.

_Don’t bite one of the few people who wouldn’t sell us out to_ People _magazine_.

Steve checked his current work. He had put two jackets, two pairs of socks, and a ski cap on Peter. And draped a blanket over all of it. “Is that enough, or should I-”

Tony was hot just looking at Peter, but he knew there was no convincing Steve that one blanket would have been enough, so he smiled and nodded. “Steve, he’s fine. Whatever she gave him-” Tony glanced down at the syringe mark at the base of Peter’s throat- “will wear off soon enough and then we can find him a seminar on why walking around barefoot in NYC is a bad idea even when you’re mad at your dads.”

“What’d you guys fight about?” Happy asked, eyes darting between the road ahead and the review mirror.

“Grades,” Tony offered too quickly.

Steve grimaced but nodded along.

Everyone knew it was bullshit. Peter Stark-Rogers was the pinnacle of perfection when it came to school. But fortunately for everyone, Peter began to stir at that exact moment.

“Hey, monkey,” Tony said, “you and I need to have a discussion about your sleep schedule because I’m kind of done having you pass out randomly. It’s annoying and you’re heavy.”

Right after the words left his mouth, Tony closed his eyes and tried to think of a way to take it back.

He just made a weight joke to someone struggling with disordered eating.

_And no points for Stark because he is a total dumbass._

Luckily, Peter was still coming off of whatever that woman gave him and didn’t seem to hear Tony anyway. Pulling his shaky elbows beneath him like a baby giraffe, Peter sat up and rubbed the side of his face. Tony caught his hand right before he could touch the open cut on his neck.

“Easy. You don’t want it to start bleeding again.”

“Bleeding?” Peter grumbled. “Why is my- holy crap! Dad! There was this lady and she changed her voice so she sounded just like Pops and then she… oh my god!”

“We saw her, too,” Steve chimed in. “She made her voice sound like yours during the mission we went on a week ago. The one your Dad was following up on yesterday.”

Tony knew all of this from the report, and because Steve had told him early one morning, but it still messed with him. Hearing their son’s voice coming from someone else… he didn’t like the idea of that.

Peter tried to touch his neck again but this time Steve stopped him.

“Pops! I just want to see how big it is!”

“Peter, you’ve been walking around New York all morning-”

“What Pops is trying to say,” Tony interrupted, “is keep your grimy, street child hands away from the open wound.”

Peter was moody the rest of the way back to the tower, arms crossed and eyes down. Neither parent tried to talk to him.

_Let him have his space,_ Tony thought, _because we are in for one hell of a confrontation when we get home. And this time, I’ll make sure he can’t just walk out the front door when he gets frustrated._

#

Back at the tower, Peter was quick to tell everyone he needed to clean his ‘grimy, street child’ body before their chat. With a pointed look at Tony, he ran off to the bathroom.

Tony was tempted to make him sit down right now, grime and all. He knew Peter and his son’s eyes were dodgy, like a caged animal.

Peter wasn’t Peter today. He was scared, and on guard, and irrational. Tony had to put Jarvis under strict instructions not to let Peter leave the tower because he was worried Peter would climb out a window.

Tony was pulled back into the moment by the soft sound of Steve’s teeth chattering.

_No, not now. Not today._

Steve smiled at Tony, trying to reassure him. “Sorry. It’s cold in here. I’m going to grab a sweater before Peter comes back.”

Tony nodded but couldn’t bring himself to smile in return.

_Not now, not now, not now._

It was over seventy degrees in the tower. Warm enough that Tony knew Peter adjusted the thermostat when Steve wasn’t home. Steve didn’t need a sweater in this climate. Especially not when he was already wearing a fleece thermal.

Tony fought the different urges firing off in his brain: _go to Steve, go to Peter, go to the workshop and have a drink_.

The last one wasn’t a real option, but thinking about it made him feel less trapped.

_Steve and Peter aren’t burdens. They’re not traps._

_So why did he feel like he couldn’t breathe?_

Ten minutes later, Peter came out of his bedroom, hands tucked into his sweatshirt pocket. He was wearing oversized sweatpants and fuzzy socks. He was trying to disappear in all of the fabric and it was working. He looked smaller, frail.

“Sit,” Tony instructed. “Before anything else, let me see your neck.”

Peter touched a fingertip to the bandage tapped under his jaw. “I cleaned it and everything. There’s a med kit under my sink.”

“Good.”

Peter eyed Tony anxiously, fidgeting with his fingers inside the pocket as he stood an arms width from the kitchen table. “Dad, I’m sorry. About earlier. I shouldn’t have- you know. I shouldn’t have left.”

Tony’s eyes softened and he wanted to pull Peter onto his lap like he did back when Peter didn’t go past his hip. “It’s fine. No hard feelings. Just don’t do it again.”

Peter nodded and finally sat in one of the chairs, pulling his feet up onto the seat so he could drop his chin onto his knees.

They sat like that for a minute, both lost in their own worlds before Peter shifted and dared to look his dad in the eyes. “Is Pops okay?”

“Just grabbing something different to wear,” Tony said, voice puffed up with enough false cheer to staff Macy’s on Christmas Eve. “I think you got some street grime and blood on him and you know how Steve is with stuff like that.”

“You’re lying.”

Tony crossed his arms and stared at his son, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

“Dad, you’re lying to me.” Peter said, simply, like he was relaying the weather or time of day. His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “It’s another cold episode, isn’t it?”

“Peter, it’s not-”

_“Master Tony, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I believe there’s a situation that needs your assistance in the bathroom.”_

Tony was torn. Because if he left Peter here, let him slip away even further, even faster…

“Kid, if I go, can you do something for me?”

Peter blanched. He knew exactly what Tony was going to say. And it terrified him.

“Just… just eat something, okay? Anything. An apple, a carton of ice cream, one of those energy drinks you turn into slushies… just something. Please, kid.” Tony stood up and glanced behind him. _I can’t lose either of you._

Peter’s eyes were wide and scared. Sometimes Tony forgot Peter was a kid. No kid should be around for this. “Dad, is he-”

“No, Peter,” Tony said. “He’s not.” _And neither are you._

_And I’m drowning with the both of you_.

#

“Steve?”

The bathroom was bathed in shadows, the only light leaking in off the street from the small window sitting above their shower.

Tony could barely make out the shivering lump leaning against the bathtub.

“I’m f-f-f-ine,” Steve reasoned, his voice hoarse and broken. “Just-t a litt-t-le bit c-c-cold.”

Tony sank down beside him, and after making sure his palm and fingers were warm, carefully placed his hands on the sides of Steve’s face. Steve’s skin was cold to the touch.

“What can I do for you right now? I can draw a warm bath, get some blankets, a mug of tea…” Tony pushed Steve’s hair out of his eyes and tried to get Steve to look at him. The meager lighting wasn’t helping him establish eye contact. “We can sit right here, too. Whatever you need.”

Steve shook his head and began to tremble. “Wha-t-t about Pe-e-ter?”

_I’ll handle that once I’ve made sure you’re okay. “_ He’s in the kitchen right now. Jarvis is watching him for me. He’ll let me know how he’s doing.”

“ _Master Peter ate two orange slices before locking himself in his room,”_ Jarvis reported.

“See. That’s something.” _Not enough, not nearly enough, but I can’t think about that right now or I’m going to end up right next to you on the cold, hard tile._ “I’m going to talk to him later. Right now, let me help you, alright?”

Steve nodded and Tony sat beside him so he could somewhat pull Steve to his chest.

Steve was wearing layers, in a hot apartment, and he was freezing. Shivering, teeth chattering, nose and cheeks tinted pink.

It took a few tries for the words to make it past his lips, but Steve finally whispered about a hot bath.

Tony kissed his hair and got to work. Turning on the faucet and filling the tub with steaming water. Pouring some sort of scented bath salt into the basin so the water was a light purple and nothing like the arctic blue of the ocean where Steve crashed the plane. Gathering the warmest clothes he could find for once Steve was done.

“I’m-” Steve began, fingers knotted in his hair as he tried to quell his shivering. “Tony, I’m so-”

“Hold it right there, Spangles.” Tony sat back down beside Steve, lacing their fingers together with one hand and clasping his husband’s forearm with the other. “No apologies. Not about this, not ever. This is superhero stuff, okay? It comes with the territory. It comes with all of the amazing things you have done for the world. Just let me be here with you.”

“B-but Peter-”

Tony shook his head and kissed Steve’s forehead. It was like kissing something fresh out of the freezer. “Peter will be okay for an hour or two. Let’s get you warm and then we can figure out how to help our son.”

When the tub was full, Tony helped Steve get to his feet and shakily strip out of the many, many layers he had crammed on. Every layer of clothing removed sent a wave of tremors through Steve’s body.

Steve was still a bit shaky on his feet, so Tony had to help him climb in so he didn’t slip, arms straining with the effort of supporting Steve’s weight.

The moment Steve sat down, heat flooding his chest and limbs as warmth seeped from the water into his bones, he sighed in relief. His cold episodes always left him exhausted and weak. But the warmth was fighting off the tension, and gradually, easing the shakiness away, too.

"I've got you," Tony whispered before kissing the side of Steve’s head and running his hands along his bare shoulders. Steve had slumped over the lip of the tub, pillowing his head on his forearms. Tony’s hands, warm and steady and _right there on his skin_ , grounded him in a way nothing else could.

Steve took a deep breath and let it out. No stuttering. "I know you do."

They just sat there for a while, Tony’s hands roaming the planes of Steve's back and arms and over his hair. Pushing heat into Steve’s skin with every brush of his fingers. Reminding him that he was here, in the tower, not on the plane or in the ocean or on the ice. He was with Tony and no one could harm him while Tony was around.

“Jarvis, how’s the kid?” Steve asked, voice steady.

_“He is in his room. He appears to be doing sit ups.”_

Tony’s hands stopped on Steve’s skin. “He’s doing what?”

“ _Well, Master Tony, sit ups are a cardio exercise-”_

Steve sat up and fingered the scar along his neck. A nervous tick he had picked up recently. “Jarvis, how many has he done?”

“ _Almost eighty nine. But I must say, the last fifty or so have not been very good examples of form.”_

Steve closed his eyes, breathing in the heat and lavender of the bath one last time. “Tony.”

But by the time Steve opened his eyes, Tony already had a fresh towel draped over one arm. “It’s time. Let’s go talk to Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: drugging of a minor (villainy stuff), PSTD, anxiety attacks, disordered eating and disordered eating behaviors, discussion of substance use.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Sorry if this chapter is kinda short and kinda lame. The muse has been giving me trouble lately and I don't know why? Don't worry; the next one is an absolute disaster in the best kind of way. :) 
> 
> Heads up; this is a heavy one for eating disorders, so read with caution. The next chapter will also be heavy with ED triggers so please practice self care and stay safe.
> 
> Enjoy!

Steve felt anxious for an entirely new reason while he pulled his clothes on, struggling to get the fabric over his damp skin.

Peter was… he wasn’t eating. He was exercising excessively. He was passing out and sleeping more.

And if Jarvis’s most recent report was to be trusted, Peter had stopped healing.

This was so much worse than Steve could have imagined.

“ _My scans tell me Master Peter’s healing process is approximately 143% slower than it usually is due malnutrition and dehydration.”_

“Tony, should we call Bruce?”

Tony shook his head, running his fingers over his facial hair. “No. Not yet. Peter will want a chance to work on _this_ without the Avengers knowing first.” Before he could stop himself, Tony smacked his fist against the wall. “ _Fuck!_ This was never good. Nothing about this is good. But if he’s stopped healing… Steve, he’s so much further along than we thought he was. He’s must have been doing this for at least a week or two. Maybe even longer.”

“And I didn’t notice,” Steve murmured.

“Steve, no one would know to look for this. This wasn’t in the manual the adoption agency gave us. We didn’t know.”

Steve pulled the final layer over his head, a knit sweater that was big, even on him. He loved it.

“Ready?”

Tony held a hand up for Steve to wait. “Before we do this… Jarvis, give me everything you have on talking to someone with an eating disorder. I want things to say, things not to say, statistics, treatment plans, all of it. Give me as much as you can in two minutes. Go.”

“ _According to the National Eating Disorders Association, young men make up 25% of people diagnosed with anorexia nervosa and are more likely to…”_

#

Peter was curling up into his ninety ninth sit up when someone knocked on his door.

“Uh, just a minute!”

He swore and rapidly scanned the room for some clothes. He had done the sit ups in his underwear to keep his clothes from getting all sweaty.

He pulled an oversized t-shirt over his head and stumbled into a clean pair of pajama pants.

“Peter?” Came Steve’s voice. “We need to talk.”

Peter sighed in relief. Even though he would rather eat thumb tacks than have this talk with his dads, he couldn’t help the stress leaving his body at the sound of Steve’s voice. He sounded normal.

The cold episode was over.

“Coming! Just a second!”

Quickly, Peter wiped his sweaty brow on the edge of the bedspread before cracking his door open.

Tony and Steve stood there, both eerily quiet and pensive.

“Yeah, what’s up? I, uh, I did what you asked Dad so can I-”

Tony shook his head and Peter’s chest hollowed. He felt like his heart was going to stop any minute now.

Oh.

They were actually going to have the talk.

And there was no way to get out of it.

Peter glanced at the elevator. _Too far_.

He could slam the door in their faces, buy enough time to lock the bathroom door. But Jarvis would unlock the doors since all the locks in the tower were automated.

He could-

“Monkey,” Tony started, his voice catching as he coughed to clear his throat. “There’s no way out of this.”

 _Peter was trying to escape,_ Tony thought. _He’s trying to run away like Steve and I are about to torture him or something like that._

Steve gestured for Peter to come to him, to burrow himself into his Pops’ side like he used to do when he was a kid after a nightmare.

Because Peter was scared, and there was nowhere else to go, he did just that.

He wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, latching on like Pops would dissipate if he gave him the chance. Peter knew he was shaking- he always shook when he got nervous- but Steve’s arms came to rest on his shoulders and it helped.

Why did he ever think that he could make his dads stop hugging him?

“I’m-” Peter said, his voice too weak to carry past the doorway. “Pops, I’m-”

_I’m scared. I’m so, so scared because I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to stop because when I eat, it hurts, and when I don’t, it hurts too._

_Every day, I feel like I take up less room in the world. But it’s never enough._

_Because I’m not a hero like you guys. I’m just a kid who likes pizza more than he likes being a hero._

_Who would choose pizza and cheese fries and hot Cheetos over being a superhero?_

_Me._

_That’s who._

_And that’s why I’m scared. Because what kind of hero does that make me?_

Steve’s arms were big and warm and enough to block out the world for a few breaths.

Peter didn’t realize he was crying until Steve gently pulled him back and used a clean corner of his t-shirt to wipe off Peter’s face.

“I’m sorry for getting stuff all over your shirt,” Peter said, dragging the back of his hand across his chin. “I don’t… I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“C’mon, kid,” Tony said, unceremoniously dropping a kiss in his hair. “Let’s- wait.” Tony gripped the side of Peter’s head and leaned down, sniffing his hair. “Peter. Is that _my_ shampoo?”

Peter blushed as Steve began to cackle. “Dad!” he squeaked, “it’s not my fault! Ned used all of mine and I couldn’t find an extra one so I borrowed yours. I was going to give it back next time I went to the store, I swear!”

Tony didn’t buy it. “Ned is bald. Literally. Why would he take your shampoo?”

Peter threw his arms up and bugged his eyes out in an ‘yeah, I know, tell me about it’ expression. “That’s what I want to know! But he’s a shampoo thief, I swear.”

Tony rolled his eyes and grumbled, “well, next time you better take Steve’s.”

On that note, the three of them finally walked into the main room of the tower. Tony was three feet ahead of Steve and Peter, mentally going over everything Jarvis had said.

_Ask him to explain why he’s been struggling to eat. Eating disorders, like any other mental illness, are on a spectrum._

_Tell him why his behavior is dangerous without belittling or minimalizing him. Make sure he understands that there is nothing wrong with him fundamentally. He’s sick, just like when I have anxiety attacks or when Steve has a nightmare._

_Whatever else you say, remind him this is because you love him._

Tony sat down in one of the recliners, letting Steve and Peter settle on the couch directly across from him. Selfishly, he wished Steve was sitting at his side. He would have loved to hold Steve’s hand during this.

But based how shaky and breakable Peter looked under one of Steve’s arms, Steve was where he needed to be.

“Talk to us. Tell us what’s been going on with you.”

Peter looped his arms across his abdomen and squeezed tight, like he was keeping his guts inside through sheer effort. “I- I don’t know what to say.”

Steve grimaced as Tony sighed.

No one knew what to say.

“Why don’t you start by telling us how long this has been going on?” Tony said, nervously toying with his wedding ring. “When did all of this start?”

Peter’s arms tightened and he looked anywhere but at his dads. “About two weeks ago.”

“Can you tell us what happened?” Steve asked, tone reassuring and calm in a way only Steve could be.

“It’s so stupid,” Peter blurted. “Please, please don’t make me tell you.”

Tony considered this. “You have to tell someone, Peter. You don’t have to talk to us but you have to talk to someone.”

“If I tell you, I don’t have to tell anyone else?”

“That depends.” Tony didn’t want to say _that depends how far into this mindset you are_ so he left things vague. Peter was more likely to open up if he didn’t know how heavily the next weeks of his life rested on this story. “I don’t want to make any promises, kid, but we’ll try to keep this between us and a professional. No one else.”

“Wait… you’re gonna make me go back to therapy?”

Steve nodded. “That’s a given. I’m going back, too. So is your dad.”

“Superhero family therapy,” Tony mussed. “Super-fam-apy. There you go. Now it even has a cool name.”

Peter blinked. _If he went back to therapy…_

_The game was up. He would have to give up his diet completely. His dads… he could fool them. At least for a while. But a therapist? He knew from experience that there was zero chance of that working out._

This was it.

“But Dad! If I- If I go to therapy, they’re gonna make me-” _they’re gonna make me eat._

Tony didn’t know it was possible for him to feel even more depressed, even more wrecked, but Peter managed to do it. Watching the panic and dread flood his son’s face at the idea of eating… that snapped something inside Tony’s chest. He fought to keep it between his ribs and out of his voice.

“Peter, there’s no choice here. You can’t go on like this. If you were human, this would be dangerous. But you’re superhuman. Like your Pops.” The taste of the words made Tony nauseous but he needed Peter to understand the gravity of this. “Peter, you can’t keep this up. You’re going to die if you try.”

Peter’s eyes thinned to serpentine slits. There it was. The mean streak that cropped up only when Peter started all of this. Pre-ED Peter would never have made that face. He would have been incapable. “I’m not gonna die. You’re just trying to scare me so I…” But Peter didn’t finish the thought.

Both Tony and Steve caught on to that.

“So you what, Peter? Tell us what you’re thinking.”

Peter didn’t reply. Just sank further into Steve’s side.

“Why would we try to scare you?” Steve asked. “Why do you think we would lie about this, Peter?”

Peter’s eyes were firmly downcast.

“Kid.”

Nothing.

“Peter. C’mon,” Tony began. “We have to- we have to talk about this. Right now. Whether you want to or not.”

Peter shrugged. “What is there to talk about? You’re going to make me go to therapy and start spying on me and I’m- I’m never going to-”

“Never going to what?”

But Peter had clammed up again. Tony could see the ‘system shut down’ initiating behind Peter’s eyes. Tony wasn’t going to get any more details out of Peter tonight.

“We’re doing this because we love you,” Steve said, his hand running over Peter’s hair.

They sat there, letting the silence wrap around their shoulders and calm the air. Tony stared down at his hands, Peter trembled against Steve’s side. It was an interlude to the second half of the confrontation. The half that Tony worried might kill him. Not that there was no choice. If Tony didn’t do it… it could kill his son.

And that wasn’t an option.

“Peter, there’s something else.”

It was as if Peter’s Spidey sense was tuned in to Tony’s thoughts. His head jerked up and he paled instantly. “No! Dad, please don’t make me-”

Peter tried to jump up and run for it but Steve’s arms tightened and carefully but firmly help Peter on the couch.

“Dad! Pops! You can’t- you can’t make me! You can’t!”

Tony didn’t want to start crying. Really, it wasn’t helping him maintain his dignity. But his vision was blurring in seconds.

“Hey, it’s not like that,” Tony whispered, getting out of his chair to kneel in front of Peter. “No one wants to make you do anything. That’s not what this is.

“Peter, you’re smarter than I am, so I’m not going to talk down to you. I’m not going to lie to you. You know that you’re human and not human at the same time. While Pops’ serum and the bite are different in many ways, they are also incredibly similar. One of those ways you and Pops are the same is your metabolism. You know this.”

Peter wasn’t getting enough air. He was panicking. But Tony couldn’t stop.

This was the only way to get Peter to understand exactly what was going on.

“Your dad needs almost four times the amount of food as the average adult man his size. That’s why I make all of those nasty specialized protein shakes for him. So he can get enough to eat without polishing off the refrigerator every couple hours.

“Your body is like that, too, Peter. Except you’re a teenager, which means you need even more. You need about six or seven times the amount of calories- energy- a teenage boy eats. That’s not because you’re gluttonous or unhealthy or anything. It’s because your body chemistry is more advanced and accelerated.

“Right now, Peter, your body is starving. Cells are dying and not getting replaced because you haven’t been giving your body the fuel it needs. If you keep going like this- eating so little and over exercising and not sleeping- your body is going to shut down. Do you understand that?”

Peter’s hands had crept up over his face but Tony saw the minute nod.

“I don’t know what happened or what’s going on, but monkey, you’ve got to let Pops and I help you before… before it gets worse. Can you do that?”

Peter leaned into Steve’s arms.

It wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no, either.

Tony stood up and found one of Steve’s protein shakes in the fridge. It was an experimental formula that tasted like regular chocolate milk but packed almost eight hundred calories.

Tony ripped the nutrition label off the bottle and stuck it into his back pocket. Another insight from Jarvis: nutrition labels were a no-go because calorie counts were a huge trigger.

Returning to the living room, Tony found that Peter had shifted so his face was completely hidden in the crevice between Steve’s neck and shoulder.

“I know the last thing you want to do right now is eat. Food is hard right now, right?”

Peter flinched.

_Why did feeding his kid feel just as cruel as abuse?_

“What about drinking this?” Tony held the bottle up, waving it enticingly. “Just to give you energy to burn.” _Enough to keep you conscious._

Peter shuddered before peeking through his fingers just long enough to take the bottle from Tony’s hands. He composed himself, taking deep, slow breaths before running his fingers over the smooth glass. His nails caught over the sticky residue left from the peeled label. “Where’s the-the sticker?”

Tony played dumb, cocked an eyebrow.

Peter sniffed and dragged his palm beneath his nose. He wasn’t stupid. Tony had taken the sticker off so he wouldn’t try to check the calories or processed sugars. “Dad, where’s the sticker?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, no, no. You can’t- you took the sticker off so I couldn’t read what was in it. It’s probably a thousand calories or something and you just- you just want me to…”

Steve shook his head. “Your dad didn’t take the sticker off to hurt you or force you into anything.”

“I thought it would make it easier,” Tony murmured.

Considering how hard Peter’s hands were shaking, Tony had been wrong.

The label was burning a hole in Tony’s pocket yet he couldn’t help believing that as bad as this was, if Peter did get to see the calorie count… It would only be that much worse.

“Is there anything we can do to help?”

Peter shook his head and picked at the sticky paste left behind, letting the glue under his fingernails distract him.

_There was no way out of this._

_If he didn’t drink it… things would get worse with his dads._

_If he did drink it… he would-_

_He would-_

_He would start eating again, just like he had before. No care for calories, or health, or superhero fitness. He would be right back where he started, soft and pliable and definitely not super._

But Steve was holding him and Tony was watching. Peter had to do something.

It was time to choose. Refuse. Give in. Throw the bottle at the wall and use the shock lag to run for it again.

However.

His legs were too shaky to run.

His resolve was too weak to refuse.

So Peter gave up and popped the top.

Steve rubbed his shoulder encouragingly and Tony was chewing on his thumbnail. His dads were paying more attention to him drinking this stupid thing than they had when he debated at national tournaments or gave speeches at school fundraisers.

Some of the milk sloshed onto his fingers as he began to lift the bottle. He watched the liquid hit the floor. Good. Calories lost.

It took too long. The journey for his hand to lift from his lap to his lips. Like it was in slow motion.

Peter closed his eyes and took a small sip.

Almost immediately, his gag reflex kicked in. If Tony wasn’t sitting a foot away, his eyes boring into Peter’s, Peter would have spit it back in the bottle. Given up and beelined for his room.

But he didn’t want to have to eat something else. That was worse.

So he swallowed and took another sip. Two tablespoons of whatever this was.

_Probably a hundred calories. Maybe more._

“There you go, monkey.” Tony’s hand found Peter’s knee and squeezed. “That’s it.”

 _That’s it?_ Peter thought. _I’m getting an ‘attaboy’ for drinking a protein shake? Dad shouldn’t be congratulating me over this. He should be terrified. I’m going to be old Peter again._

The idea of old Peter was all it took for Peter’s throat to close. Coughing, he recapped the bottle and set it on the ground.

Four sips.

Too many calories.

“Can I… just- take a break?”

Tony wanted to scream. _You don’t get to take a break. Not when your face is white and you’re trembling. You need to finish the drink._

Drawing a hard line wouldn’t work right now, though.

“Of course.” Tony pulled himself onto the couch beside Peter, kissing the side of his head before his son could push him away.

Peter let them hold him. Let his dads touch his hair and hug him like they had done back when we was a scaredy cat toddler with his thumb in his mouth.

Because as long as they were comforting him, they weren’t trying to make him eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: anything and everything related to disordered eating and eating disorders.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry this chappie is a few days late. I went away for a COVID-19 safe vacation and the wifi there was terrible so I'm just able to edit and post this now. Don't worry; I'm still on track to have a nice update ready in time for this Sunday.
> 
> Special thank you to everyone who's taken the time to leave kudos or comment these last few weeks. Isolation makes it difficult to find the mental energy to create and your encouragement has been appreciated more than you could possibly know. :)
> 
> Thanks again and enjoy!

“Do it one more time, Liz. This is going on my Insta as soon as we finish.”

Brandon Beckham watched in delight as his girlfriend casually lifted the front of his car, one hand holding the bumper, the other hand under crucial examination. _How cool was this?_

Liz looked up from her fingernails. “Are you done?”

“I would be if you smiled.”

“Do you know how many pictures I take a day in that sorority house, B?” Liz grinned and spoke through her teeth. “Dozens. Dozens of pictures. Forgive me for not wanting to pose for yet another _goddamned post.”_

Brandon slipped his phone into his back pocket and threw his hands up. “I know, I know. You’re right. I just wanted to commemorate how sexy you look with superpowers.”

Liz set the car down and picked some lint off the collar of her shirt. “I’m hungry. Let’s go get some bagels.”

“We just ate.”

“Superpowers make a girl hungry. I said bagels.”

Brandon glanced down the block. They were in Brooklyn. There was a bagel shop every other foot.

“There’s one over there.” He held out his arm and Liz’s fingers looped around his elbow. “We’ll get you a snack and then it’s time to hit the tower.”

Liz stared down at her hand. Her fingers had stuck to his sleeve. She was finally starting to get the hang of this sticky skin thing. That, and her nails were perfect right now. “Sounds great, babe.”

Brandon and Liz walked down the street, blending right in with the rest of the college-age somethings and millennials.

No one was the wiser that Brandon had cracked the science behind Peter’s spider bite the night before, half a pizza roll dangling from his mouth. No knew that Liz had been writing her intro to sociology essay as Brandon hooked up her IV.

They only realized the infusion had worked when Liz’s fingers began to stick to her laptop keys.

Now, with one super mind and one super being, they were on their way to becoming the heroes the world needed.

The last thing they had to get was one of Tony Stark’s suits. Then they could give the Avengers a run for their money.

It was time for young people to have their own heroes. And Brandon and Liz were ready to be those heroes.

#

Peter wouldn’t finish the protein shake.

It wasn’t surprising. Tony figured it would only be half the bottle or so before Peter refused to go on.

What Tony didn’t expect was for Peter to lie about drinking it and then dump it down the sink right in front of him.

“Peter, why did you do that?”

Peter’s cheeks flushed as he set the bottle in the sink, arms crossing. “Dad- what are you, uh- what are you talking about? Exactly?”

Tony couldn’t believe this. Refusing to drink or eat something was one thing. Dumping it down the pipes was another. “What was the point of that? I know you didn’t drink it. I’m sitting right here.”

“Dad, I drank all of it. There were, uh, um, some, like- you know? Dregs! There were dregs collecting in the bottom and I hate those so I just poured out the last sip or two because of, uh… dregs?”

Peter had poured out half of the bottle. Half. Not a sip or two.

“Hmm. How about next time you leave the dregs in the bottle so I can work on the formula and make sure we don’t have any dregs next time?”

“Okay.”

Steve came back into the room and glanced between Tony and Peter. He looked worried. “Tony, can I talk to you real quick? In private.”

Tony was perfectly content watching Peter in the kitchen but Steve’s face said it was urgent. “Yeah. Peter, don’t go anywhere, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Peter didn’t reply but Tony figured he would listen.

“Steve, before you say anything, I know I didn’t handle that situation in a great way but I’m trying to keep track of how much he’s eating so he doesn’t keel over. And it’s a lot more difficult to do that when he’s pouring things down the… what is it?”

Steve clicked the bedroom door shut and sighed. “It’s Fury. We’ve got a problem.”

“Fuck. Me.” Tony kicked his heel into their bedframe. “Are you serious? Right now?”

Steve massaged the bridge of his nose. “Unfortunately. It’s that tech kid again. He’s in Brooklyn with his girlfriend. The one who got Peter earlier.” Steve pulled his phone out and tapped a few times. “Look at this. Someone posted it online.”

Tony took Steve’s phone and zoomed in. It was Brandon’s girlfriend lifting a car off the curb the same way Steve lifted the couch when he vacuumed. “Do we know what kind of powers we’re dealing with here?”

Steve shook his head. “She hasn’t done anything that would prove whether she’s juiced on the serum or the spider bite. I would guess she took after Peter since they came back for a second biopsy and she doesn’t look like she grew or filled out like I did when I was-” he gestured vaguely- “but that’s just a guess.”

“Why does Fury need us on this?” Tony swatted Steve’s hand from picking at the healed scar where Brandon had gotten him a week before. “Can’t he just call in birdy and our favorite murderous redhead? What about Rapunzel and the not so jolly Green Giant?”

“Fury did call them in. It’s a full team operation.”

“Awesome.” Tony chucked. “This? This is fucking _awesome._ Peter isn’t eating and now we get to go on a full team mission to stop the motherfuckers who stole his DNA, leaving him here alone to get into all kinds of trouble. Plus, we have no idea what weapons or superpowers these teenaged mutant ninja brats have or what their plan is.”

“Tony-”

“No, seriously, Cap. Let me bask in this. We’re going to leave Peter here, _alone_ -”

“Tony, we’re not leaving Peter here alone.”

Tony threw his hands in the air in mock celebration. “Even better! Let’s take him on a mission so he can faint in the field with bombs and lasers flying everywhere-”

“The team is coming here.” Steve held his hand up before Tony could start again. “Fury thinks the tower is their next target.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Steve and Tony were standing there, thoughts racing, when Jarvis cleared his throat to get their attention.

Tony rolled his eyes. “What is it?”

“ _Sorry to interrupt but I think Master Peter may need your attention, sirs.”_

Steve grimaced. “What is it now?”

“ _He appears to be trying to induce vomiting in the kitchen and I don’t think it is going particularly well. I worry he’s going to scratch the back of his throat with his fin-”_

Tony was already sprinting out of the bedroom.

Peter was leaning over the kitchen sink with what looked like his whole fist down his throat. When he saw Tony and Steve, he immediately pulled his hand free and pretended to cough into his fist.

“I, uh-”

Steve slouched against the countertop, face drawn.

Tony couldn’t figure out what face he was going to make. Angry dad? Depressed? Confused?

Scared beyond recognition?

“Dad, Pops, it’s not what it-”

“Yeah, it is.” Tony whispered. “It’s exactly what it looks like and that’s okay. Not okay that it’s happening, but okay because we’re going to help you through it.”

Steve still hadn’t said anything.

“The team’s on their way.” Tony supplied. “All of ‘em. Fury sent up the giant ‘A’ for that duo that got you and Steve. We think they’re coming to the tower.”

Peter’s moody façade broke and for a moment, he looked like the old Peter. The wannabe hero with too many thoughts and feelings to put into the world at once so his words always came out rushed and packed. “Why are they coming here? They already got Pops and I. No offense, Dad, but you don’t have any powers for them to replicate.”

Tony rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension. “I don’t know what they want. Fury and his team are trying to figure it out as we speak. All I know is that we need to be ready for when they show up.”

Peter went off to his room to fetch his suit without looking back.

This was Peter’s chance. He could prove that he was a hero, just like his dads, and he could do it without even leaving the tower.

His head felt a bit too light while he was struggling into the suit. Standing on one foot made him dizzy enough that he had to sit on the edge of his bed while tugging the fabric up his calves.

“It’s just nerves,” he mumbled. “Calm down, Stark-Rogers. It’s a mission just like any other one.”

Once Peter got the suit on, he chanced a look at his reflection.

The suit fit different. It wasn’t as tight in certain places but it was straining to contain him in others.

Peter had to look away after only a few seconds before the sight made him sick.

He took another minute to gather his thoughts, and to recover from the head rush of lurching in and out of the mirror’s view, before making his way to the elevator. They always waited in the lobby for the rest of the Avengers.

Steve and Tony were talking in hushed whispers until they saw him coming.

Tony looked Peter over, head to toe. He didn’t say anything. Just shared one of those parenting looks with Steve before turning to call the elevator up.

Steve wouldn’t look Peter’s way at all. “Any updates, Jarvis?”

“ _Thor is under ten minutes away, sir. He will retrieve Dr. Banner. I am unaware of Ms. Romanov’s location. Mr. Barton- or, er, as you tell me to call him, Birdy- is as few blocks up. I think he’s bringing pastries.”_

Steve nodded. “Thanks, Jarvis.”

“ _Any time, sir.”_

The elevator ride was filled with awkward silence.

Tony couldn’t stop looking at the loose fabric of Peter’s suit. Peter’s suit was perfectly tailored to his body and designed to accommodate basic changes. It wasn’t meant to drape over his shoulders or pool at the dip of his hips.

Steve was looking at the wall. If he looked at either Tony or Peter, he wouldn’t be able to stop whatever emotion he was stoppering up. Tony always made fun of his Boomer emotion coping mechanisms, but they were coming in clutch right now.

Peter was trying not to sway from the heat of the suit and brightness of the elevator’s lights.

When they got to the bottom, it was a short wait before Clint arrived.

“Friends! I bring spoils from the greatest bakery on this planet!” Hawkeye thundered in a terrible Thor impression. “Man, that sounded much more god-like in my head, but hey. I tried. And I brought bagels.”

Tony smiled. “Oh, birdy. You really know how to hit the spot.”

“Was that an archer pun?”

“Yes.”

Clint pointed a finger at Tony. “Don’t ever do that again. It was terrible.”

“It was not that bad-”

Steve groaned. Great. Clint and Tony were already getting started with what he and Nat liked to call their ‘thing.’ Basically, both of them reverted to their teenage roots and acted like a pair of roosters with their chests puffed out.

Nat arrived next, wearing a black evening gown with a set of small daggers artfully arranged at her waist. Her hair was pulled up and encrusted with gemstones. If it wasn’t for the cutting glare and the signature shade of red hair, Steve wouldn’t have recognized her.

“Don’t ask,” she said before any of four men could even formulate a question. Peter looked like he might stroke out.

Tony and Clint were fighting over the lone everything bagel as Nat sidled up beside Steve. He didn’t even realize she’d crossed the room until her shoulder came to rest against his arm.

“What happened to your spider?”

Peter was lying on a bench, sticking and unsticking his foot from the wall. He looked exhausted and miserable and decidedly un-Peter-like.

“I’ll tell you about it later. Bad couple of days.”

She nodded and, without warning, took the everything bagel from Tony’s hand and took a huge bite.

That was one way to settle the argument.

“Are you two done now?”

Clint opened his mouth to speak but the glint in Nat’s eyes stopped him from saying anything.

She sat down beside Peter, a tub of cream cheese and a plastic knife appearing out of nowhere. “Split it with me?”

The panicked look in his eyes didn’t escape her notice. “Uh, no thanks, Aunt Nat. I’m not hungry.”

His stomach growled at the smell of toasted bagel.

“Not hungry?” Nat tried to offer him the other half again. “It’s okay. I don’t want the whole thing anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks, though.”

Nat sat beside him while she finished her half, purposefully chewing slowly and within Peter’s view. As if enjoying the food in his line of sight would entice him to eat something himself.

It didn’t work. Peter went back to sticking and unsticking the bottom of his foot from the wall.

Tony watched it all with a plummeting stomach.

“What’s wrong with him?” Clint asked, a few stray sesame seeds stuck to his lower lip. As if the subject of Clint’s inquiry was in question, Clint motioned to the morose teenager sprawled on a bench.

“Birdy, you’re covered in seeds.”

Clint swiped a hand over his mouth. There was still one there, dangling from the corner of his mouth. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m deflecting.”

Clint made a face but it passed. “Okay. Then tell me what you know about this duo that’s going to attack us.”

Tony explained what he knew. Clint knew most of it from the debriefing and from the fact that he was there. But no one had told him that the crazies had gotten Peter, too.

“What was Peter doing at the school? And how did that lady get the drop on him?”

“No idea.” _He was unconscious on the classroom floor because he hasn’t eaten enough lately to stay awake and alert._ “Either way, we’re pretty sure she’s got Peter’s powers now and-”

The front door of the tower slammed open and everyone dropped into defensive positions, weapons drawn. Peter shot up and perched on the wall.

“Friends!”

“Thor, we’ve talked about this!” Tony yelled, lowering his lasers before he accidentally singed a chunk of Thor’s face off. “You can’t barge in like that when we’re waiting for the bad guys. It’s bad for my heart.”

“I’m sorry, brother,” Thor said, a large grin taking over his face. “I was just excited to see you all and got carried away.”

Tony didn’t fight when Thor gave him a bone crushing hug, just pat him on the back until Thor put him down.

Tony didn’t notice that Bruce had come in right behind Thor until the doctor was waving Tony over, an apprehensive look on his face.

“If it’s about the mission, I don’t know any more than you do,” Tony prefaced.

Bruce grimaced and tugged at his earlobe. “Not what I was going to ask you about.”

Tony sighed. “The kid.”

Bruce gave him an incredulous look. “What happened? He’s lost weight and looks like he’s a couple minutes from a nap. Is he sick or something? I thought the bite kept him from getting sick. Like Steve.”

Tony bit his lip. If he could trust, or wanted to trust, any of the Avengers with what was going on with his son, it was Bruce. Bruce was a doctor, for starters, but he was also careful and sensitive. Maybe he would actually have a clue about what to do.

“Come with me.” Tony beelined for the elevator. “Steve, I’m taking Bruce to the workshop real quick. I think I might have something for whatever this turns out to be. Get everyone to the lockdown floor.”

Steve mock saluted.

As soon as the doors closed around them, the words bubbled out of Tony like a dam bursting.

He told Bruce everything. The constant passing out, the over exercising, the refusal to eat. Even how Peter tried make himself throw up in the sink earlier. No details spared, no portions glossed over.

Bruce’s eyes were shining with pity by the time he finished. “Tony, I don’t even know what to say. This is serious.”

“Why do you think I told you?” Tony’s hands were shaking again so he tucked them into his armpits. “Bruce, you’re better with the biochemistry and human body stuff than I am. He needs to eat something soon, right? He can’t live like this much longer.”

“I mean, I’m no expert on his body chemistry-”

“Bruce. Please don’t bullshit me.”

“He needs to start eating again.” Bruce conceded. “Actual spiders can go a month or two without food if they’ve been eating regularly and have access to a water source. But I’m going to guess, since Peter is a combination of human and spider genetics and is much more active than an actual spider… He’s going to start slowing down. Getting drowsy and lethargic.”

Tony thought about how Peter had been lying on the bench, staring at the wall. Maybe he was just being moody… or maybe it was exhaustion. “What can we do? Besides force-feeding him with a tube.”

“Water. Keep him hydrated. If you can get him to eat something, anything- do it. I’ll keep an eye on him, too.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Tony saw rather than felt Bruce’s hand come down on his shoulder. “We love him, too, Tony. We’re here if you need us.”

The elevator doors opened before Tony could say something sappy back. Thank goodness. Tony was still dabbling in emotional vulnerability and he wasn’t sure what to say.

Tony waited for the elevator doors to close again and hit the button for the lockdown floor.

There was a surprise waiting for him when they got there.

The lockdown floor was a room as wide and long as the tower, give or take a few feet of concrete and some bulletproof bay windows. At the center of the space was a table, large enough to seat a dozen comfortably, and a fully stocked coffee cart.

There were two things in the room that didn’t belong there: a pile of manila folders and a Black man with an eyepatch, his feet kicked up onto another chair.

“Fury.” The sound of his name alone made Tony’s blood boil. “I would say it’s great to see you but Cap’s morals are rubbing off on me and I’ve stopped lying.”

“Whatever you say, Tin Man.”

Bruce smiled and Tony smacked him on the chest.

“When you’re done stroking your ego, come on over here so we can discuss the case,” Fury continued, flipping through one of the folders. “Trust me, you’ll like what I have to share.”

“And what is that? Glaring personality flaws?”

“Look who’s talking.”

Bruce gave in and chuckled. Tony went to smack him again but Bruce was too quick.

“Back to the problem at hand. I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“Hit us with the bad news first,” Bruce murmured, thumbing through one of the files. “That way we end on a good note.”

Fury sighed and rubbed his eyepatch. “The bad news is that Beckham’s girlfriend, Liz Wheaton, now has a mocktail Spider-Man cocktail in her bloodstream. We’re not entirely sure how they did it or how long it will last, but we’re sure she can do everything he can. We also have footage of her imitating Steve’s powers but that only lasted a few minutes. Whatever Beckham did the first time, didn’t work long term. We have no idea if this Spidey potion will last or not.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed as he clasped his own elbows. “That’s the bad news?”

Fury nodded. “It is. And here’s the good news. You’ll like it, Stark, because you’re a narcissist and this is all about you.”

“Fury-”

“Nah, I’m serious. Beckham and Wheaton are on their way over here right now and we know what they want.”

Fury picked at a fingernail, examined it, and looked around. Dramatics were always accredited to Tony, but truly, the biggest drama queen in the group was Nicholas Fury.

“He wants one of your suits, Stark. So I need you to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

It made sense. If Wheaton had powers, and Beckham could get one of the suits, they would be an actual threat. A wannabe Stark-Rogers duo.

“Why did you come all the way out here to tell us this?”

Fury shrugged. “Consider this an in-the-field performance review.”

Bruce and Tony didn’t buy it.

“Okay, fine. The office was getting boring and I’m hiding from paperwork.” Fury pointed his chin at the elevator. “Get the rest of the team up here so we can discuss strategy. These two can’t get into Avengers tower.”

“ _Excuse me, sir.”_

Tony pressed a button and his suit’s faceplate locked back into place. “Tell me something happy, Jarvis.”

“ _Master Steve had me record one of your favorite cooking shows so the two of you could have a date night on Wednesday.”_

Fury raised his eyebrows and whistled. Bruce was chewing on his lower lip to remain composed.

“Not what I meant, Jarvis. What do you need?”

“ _Sorry, sir. I believe Master Peter has been altering my programming lately and it’s affected-”_

 _“_ Jarvis.”

“ _Brandon Beckham and Elizabeth Wheaton were spotted on a traffic camera two blocks north of the tower. They’re on their way here now.”_

“Get the rest of the team up here now. We’ll figure out a way to stop them.”

“ _Right away, sir.”_

“Get ready to talk fast, Fury.”

Once everyone was upstairs, standing around the table like a Comic Con panel, Fury did talk fast.

Unfortunately, not fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: disordered eating, attempted induced vomiting, body dysmorphia


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I have had the wildest last two weeks of my life. My best friend and her boyfriend caught COVID so I've been in quarantine since last weekend. I wish I had used all my time spent cooped up to write or read, but honestly, it was hard enough to find the energy to do homework and attend Zoom classes.
> 
> As always, thank you to the beautiful, kind folks who leave kudos and write reviews. All of you help make writing this story easier and I can't thank you enough for that.
> 
> Enjoy all the pain I put our little supe family in! The next chapter will be even worse. :)

“That’s your plan? _That’s it_?”

Tony knew Fury wasn’t a dumb man, but it felt like Fury was trying to prove he was indeed intellectually deficient.

“Please, Stark,” Fury replied. “Share with the group _your_ genius plan that doesn’t involve those two knuckleheads getting their hands on your tech.”

Tony snapped his fingers. “Jarvis, send all the suit prototypes and anything that isn’t my personal bright and shiny ride into the safe. Pronto.”

“ _Initiated, sir. All suits and tech shall be locked up within two minutes. Shall I lockdown all computers as well?”_

“I’ve got an even better idea. Back up all the computers on my server and wipe them. You can reinstate them after Tweedledee and Tweedledum are back on their way to algebra. Or prison. Whichever comes first.”

“ _As you wish.”_

“You see that, Fury? That’s how helpful people are supposed to sound.”

Fury huffed and rolled his eye. “Are you done?”

Tony stroked his chin and thought about it. “Sure, I’m done.”

“Finally,” Clint murmured.

“So, what? We’re just sitting ducks until they get here?” Peter piped up. He was rubbing his scar, worry spread across his features even as he fought to stay stoic.

Fury shrugged. “The chances of anyone getting onto this floor are minimal. It’s a bunker. Plus, Stark’s tech is locked away and the quinjet isn’t here. Being sitting ducks is the best possible way to make sure they don’t get anything else from us.”

Nat rubbed her forehead. At some point between when she took the elevator and when she strode over to the table, she had changed into her usual suit. No one was brave enough to ask where the dress went.

“What are we going to do if they get into the tower? Just let them run around until they get bored and leave?” Peter was scratching at the scar now, his fingernails audibly removing the top layers of skin. “I mean, what if they- I don’t know! Find something else? Corner us?”

“Kid, you could defeat Supergirl with your eyes closed,” Tony said. _Well, maybe not_. Peter looked one punch away from a nap. “It’s going to be fine.”

Peter shook his head furiously. “No, it’s not going to be fine! Last time you guys went up against these people- last time you-”

Steve gently took Peter by the arm and pulled him to the other side of the floor, out of earshot and sight of the rest of the team.

The city lights spilled through the bay window, illuminating Peter’s face.

He wasn’t crying but he wasn’t breathing either.

“Peter, what is it? Is this because of what happened at the school?” Steve didn’t want to embarrass Peter by giving him a hug or touching his face. He knew teenage boys didn’t want their dads comforting them in public.

A nagging voice edged its way into Steve’s mind, whispering _maybe Peter just doesn’t want comfort from_ you. _Tony has always been his favorite dad. Everyone knows that._

“No, no, it’s- it’s not like that!” Peter coughed into his fist, gasping for air like he was coming up after a long swim. “Pops, it’s not-”

“Take a breath.” Steve glanced over his shoulder. No one was looking their way. The team had respectfully turned their backs to them.

“Alright, look out at the skyline with me. C’mon. Turn your back to them,” Steve instructed. “No one’s looking at us. It’s just you and me. Just you and me.”

Peter still wasn’t breathing.

Steve settled one of his palms between Peter’s shoulder blades. Firm pressure. Low stimulation. Privacy.

Steve might not be the parent Peter wanted right now, but he was the one Peter had and he was going to be there for his son.

“Just breathe, Peter. Once you breathe, you can tell me what you’re thinking.”

Peter finally broke the cycle. With a noise like his windpipe snapping, Peter shuddered and finally pulled air into his lungs. His son’s chest expanded beneath Steve’s hand, the prominence of his knobbed spine and the curved wing tips of his shoulder blades sending bile up the back of Steve’s throat. _He felt so frail. So thin._

It took a few tries, a few failed intakes of oxygen, before Peter was ready to speak.

“Pops, the last time- the last time those people got you and Dad… said- he said you…” Peter’s voice cracked. His next words were broken and splintered. “You could’ve died.”

“Peter, we weren’t ready then. We’re ready now.” Steve looped his arm around his son’s neck and felt warmth pool in his stomach when Peter’s arms locked around his hips in response. “This won’t be anything like last time.”

Peter nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Pops, they’re all watching us, aren’t they? So much for Spider-Man. More like Spider-Baby.”

Steve gave Peter an incredulous look. “Don’t say that. No one is looking at us. Even if they were, it doesn’t matter. They are jealous of our view, though. This skyline is much prettier than Nick Fury.”

Peter laughed but it died off. “Pops, is that-”

Steve followed Peter’s line of sight and pulled them back from the window just in time for a missile to ricochet off the glass.

Peter scrambled back so quickly he fell flat on his ass. “What the-”

“Steve! Peter! _Get back!_ ”

Tony’s voice reached their ears just as another missile whizzed past the window and arced into the glass a few floors above them.

First, the sound of glass shattering as they watched the shards rain down the outside of the window. Then came the shuddering explosion as the missile blew up the top of the tower.

Steve dove on top of Peter without thinking.

But the bunker held. The concrete vibrated, the glass quivered. But nothing gave or cracked.

“Why do I feel like we’re in a coffin?” Clint murmured much louder than he intended to.

Steve stood and pulled Peter up after him. Peter grimaced.

Steve paled. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s- it’s fine. I’m fine. Just sore.” Peter’s eyes bugged out when he realized what he had said.

Before Steve could ask what he meant by that, Peter’s head snapped to the window. “Someone’s climbing the building.”

It was quick. A flash of blonde hair and black clad limbs scrambling up the glass.

Much faster than Peter had ever been.

“Dad, did you-”

“We all saw it.” Tony motioned for everyone to huddle around the table. “Change of plans.”

“Stark, there’s no-” Fury began.

“It’s fine. Birdy, Nat, Rapunzel, and I will go.” Clint looked like he was about to protest but Nat shut him down. “Fury, all three of us are human. If they defeat us, there’s no DNA to swipe. Nothing for them to steal. You’ve got babysitting duty, Saint Nick. Watch Cap, Bruce, and the kid.”

“Tony, we’re not going to let you-”

Tony cocked an eyebrow at Steve as his armor slowly rolled up his body. “Who said anything about you letting me?”

“Dad!”

“Peter, I’ll be fine. I promise.” Tony and his team made for the elevator. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

Fury walked over to the elevator just as Tony instructed JARVIS to take them up to the explosion. The metal doors clanged shut before Fury could reach them.

“Why is he so fucking reckless?”

Steve sighed and Bruce grimaced.

Peter shrugged. “Poor parenting.”

All three men looked at Peter.

“What? It’s true.”

#

“Tony, tell me you have some sort of plan.”

“I could also tell you global warming is a conspiracy theory, but my morality sense is tingling and I don’t want to lie.”

Nat pulled two daggers out of hidden sheaths and spun them along the tips of her fingers. Clint notched an arrow and Thor adjusted his grip on his hammer. Tony warmed the lasers at his palms.

Everyone was on guard as the elevator door eased open.

But there was no one there.

Shattered glass and chunks of what had been the living room sprinkled the walls and the hardwood. Tendrils of smoke curled up from scorch marks the missile has left behind. Shrapnel coated the whole space.

But there wasn’t a sign of Wheaton or Beckham anywhere.

“Where’d they go?” Clint asked. He still had an arrow cocked for when the opportunity presented itself. “We saw Wheaton climbing the tower so she has to be-”

Cogs spun and whirred behind Tony’s eyes as he tried to piece it together. Why would they break into this level if they weren’t-

“The roof. They’re going in through the roof!”

Thor’s brow furrowed. “But you said-”

“This was a distraction.” Tony smashed the elevator ‘up’ button. “There’s no one here because they’re trying to get to the lab from the roof.”

“Tony, how do you know that?” Nat questioned, but she followed him into the elevator regardless.

“Just trust me. It’s a gut feeling.”

“You better be right.” Clint shook out his shoulders. “There nothing to hide behind up there. Also, there’s a bit of a fall to think about.”

Tony grit his teeth. He knew all too well about free falling through the sky above Manhattan. Been there, done that, not again, thank you. “I know.”

Same as before, the elevator doors whirred open to nothing. Just cold wind whistling between buildings as Tony searched for any sign, any evidence, that the Dumbass Duo had been up here.

Nothing.

“Where are they?”

Nat sheathed her knives. “Ask Jarvis.”

“ _Hello, sir,”_ Jarvis said from inside Tony’s helmet. “ _They don’t appear to be in the tower or on it for that matter.”_

“How the hell did they just disappear?”

_“I don’t know, sir.”_

Tony walked across the length of the roof top landing pad, letting Jarvis scan the whole area. Nothing. No trace of where Wheaton may have gone and no signs that Beckham had been with her. Why would someone blow up a level of the tower and leave empty handed? If this was a distraction, what for?

Tony’s tech was all locked away. The suits were safe. So why-

“ _Tony!”_

Tony turned to Thor just in time to see another rocket cresting over the skyline, coming straight for him.

“Get down!” Tony cried. He didn’t have time to fly out of the way, just dive sideways as another missile tore the rooftop to rubble and sent him plummeting toward the ground.

#

Peter was staring out the window as Pops, Bruce, and Fury spoke in hushed tones around the table. If Peter wanted to, he could focus in on their voices and listen to what they were saying, but so far, they were just strategizing, and it was boring.

Watching the hurried streets of Manhattan below him was a much more interesting way to pass the time.

Peter was trying to decide if the black spec on the sidewalk was an old woman or a millennial with poor posture when he saw the next missile.

“ _Duck!_ ”

Peter fell flat on his stomach, hands cuffed around his head. His breath puffed hot and ragged against the cold floor.

Five seconds passed.

Ten.

“Pops?”

The impact was instant, as if Peter’s words had been the cue. First, a shock wave that sent the room trembling. Then, the sound of concrete crumbling and hot metal ripping like paper as the missile tore apart the structure.

It took Steve’s hand on Peter’s shoulder for him to realize they were fine. He was safe. Pops was safe. The bunker floor had held.

The ringing in Peter’s ears stifled his father’s words. “-hit the roof. I need to go-”

The hand on Peter’s shoulder went still.

Without warning, Steve sprang up and hit the glass with his shield.

“No, no, _no!_ ”

Peter knew what had happened the second he saw Captain America’s face.

Iron Man had been on the roof.

His dad was up there when the missile hit.

Bruce ran over and pulled Steve away from the window. “Steve, stop! There’s nothing you can-”

With an animalistic scream, like a man being gutted alive, Steve threw his shield against the bulletproof glass one more time and it shattered. The whole panel broke outward and cold air rushed in.

Peter didn’t stop to think.

He just rocked back on his heels and jumped.

Everything was happening so fast he couldn’t process it. The mist of clay and glass made it hard to see but Peter would know the glint of red and gold anywhere.

Tony was falling too fast for Peter to reach him. Peter was more aerodynamic but Tony was heavier and had a head start.

Peter had to catch him with a web blast.

The first blast shot wide, grasping at air before sticking to the side of the building.

 _Don’t let him die, Stark-Rogers,_ Peter’s mind screamed. _Not like this. Not now, not ever._

The second shot snagged onto Tony’s elbow.

Peter took his other hand and shot it up, the web catching the protruding lip of the bunker floor’s ceiling.

He grit his teeth and screamed when the web connecting him to the building pulled taut. At least one of his shoulders came out of the socket. Maybe both. His dad and the building were using his body as a bungee cord.

“Pops!” Peter yelled, pain leaking into his voice even as he tried his best to tamper it down. He couldn’t see Steve through the fire and debris but he knew his father could hear him. “Pops, pull us up! I can’t. I think the strain pulled my shoulders out of-”

_Pop._

The shoulder attached to the arm carrying Tony came undone, too.

Peter didn’t have the strength to scream this time.

“Peter, hold on!”

If Peter’s body wasn’t burning with pain, he would have quipped something back. Said _I don’t need to hold on, that’s the point of using the webs_. But he couldn’t feel his arms or upper back. His head was swimming.

He was beginning to nod off when the crack of his jaw smacking into his chest woke him back up.

No.

The _crack_ wasn’t his jaw hitting his breastbone.

It was the ceiling over the bunker. It was fissuring. A slab of concrete, shifting as the weight of Peter and Tony gradually pulled at it.

“ _Pops, hurry_!”

Slowly but steadily, Steve looped the web string around his palms and pulled Peter and Tony up. It was harder than he thought; the slower he pulled, the longer they were out there, but if he pulled too quick, Tony’s limp body might come free from the web strand.

As soon as Peter cleared the jagged edge, he stuck himself to the floor to anchor his body and to free Steve’s hands to pull Tony the rest of the way up. Maybe the pain was numbing Peter’s brain, but it looked like Steve was fishing. Reeling in the web for what was stuck at the end.

“Peter, your shoulders are…” Bruce rushed to Peter’s side and looked over him worriedly.

“Can you- can you pop them back-”

Bruce’s hands were quick and sturdy. It took Peter a couple extra seconds to catch up to the burning pain of the bones clicking back into place.

Peter whimpered but kept his lips pressed together. When he was positive he wasn’t going to scream or vomit from the pain, he nodded to Bruce in appreciation. It was always worse when he knew it was coming.

“Tony!”

With one final tug, Steve pulled Tony up and onto the floor, his usually sure hands fluttering over the singed and dented surface of the Iron Man suit as he tried to find a way to get his husband out of the armor.

“C’mon, Tones, c’mon.”

Steve’s hands cupped the face plate and he dragged his thumbs all over, searching for a divot or a release switch. He needed to see Tony’s face, needed to see that he was alive and in one piece and…

Tony’s fingers twitched.

“Hey, Spangles,” Tony mumbled, his voice barely carrying as he pulled the face plate up. One of his eyebrows was split open and bloody foam bubbled past his lips. “Miss me?”

Steve’s body sunk back and he dropped his forehead against Tony’s. “You’re such an idiot.”

Tony coughed and smiled up at them. “My fortune and diplomas would fight you on that one but I’d be happy to review your thesis.”

Peter rolled his eyes when his dads shamelessly began kissing.

 _Why did they have to do this? Ruin an epic superhero moment with their gross_ romance _._

Bruce laughed when he saw the unbridled disgust on Peter’s face.

Steve pulled away first, his lips tinged pink. “Where is everyone else?”

The elevator dinged behind them.

“I didn’t know we had a new team policy.” Clint yelled. He was covered in cuts from the shrapnel and smoky from the explosion. Someone, probably Thor, smelled distinctly of burnt hair. “Do I get a kiss from you too, Cap?”

“Hands off my trophy husband, Birdy. Go find your own piece of ass.”

Steve tried to appear stately, like a proper leader, but his cheeks and neck flushed as soon as one of Tony’s hands gripped his ass.

“Dad!” Peter admonished.

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“When I’m…” Peter fell to the side, his words tilting with his vision.

“Woah, there,” Bruce reached out and steadied Peter. Sitting up was more difficult for Peter than it should have been. “Did you hit your head?”

 _If he had, he didn’t remember._ “I don’t know.”

Peter pulled off the hood of his suit so Bruce could check his pupils and how well his eyes tracked the doctor’s finger.

“You don’t seem concussed.”

“Then let’s get out of here,” Fury yelled, waving everyone away from the gaping hole in the side of the building. “We’re exposed up here and Stark doesn’t look too good. Time to find a safe place to regroup and come up with a way to beat these bastards.”

Steve pulled Tony to his feet and looped an arm around his husband’s waist while Tony struggled to sling his own arm across Steve’s broad shoulders. Usually, Tony loved how much taller Steve was. Right now, it felt like trying to hold onto the side of car.

Thor walked over and picked up Peter bridal style before Peter could squawk in protest. “Don’t worry, Captain. I have the spider.”

“I _do not_ need to be carried! I’m fine!”

“Less protest, Petey.” Tony groaned as he slumped against Steve’s side. His whole body hurt. “More fleeing.”

Nat stepped forward. “I’ve got a spot but we’ll need to split up. It’s a few blocks from here. We don’t want to be followed.”

Thor nodded grimly. “We need to be inconspicuous.”

“Funny, coming from you God of Thunder.”

“Tony,” Steve admonished, “now is not the time.”

Tony shrugged and Steve adjusted his grip on Tony’s suit.

“Clint, you go with Cap and Tin Man,” Nat instructed. “Fury, take the doctor. I’ll try to sneak Peter and Thor in through an alternative entrance. I sent all of you the address. Cap, you guys go first. We’ll leave in waves.”

Tony clicked his face plate back in place. “I’ve got the coordinates. See you soon.” He turned to Peter. “Behave yourself or I swear to God, Peter, you will forget the taste of freedom.”

Peter rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. He was being carried like a baby. He wasn’t going to be mature about it.

Cap, Tony and Clint left without further fanfare. The rest of the team made their way down to the reinforced training room. It was their last hope for a place Wheaton and Beckham couldn’t easily get to.

Thor put Peter down once they reached the room and Peter scampered a few feet away as soon as his feet found the floor. He was determined not to let anyone else pick him up.

Unfortunately, Bruce now had the time to do a medical exam.

“Let me see your shoulders and abdomen, Peter. Check for broken ribs or internal bleeding from the fall.”

Peter’s blood slowed and cooled in his veins. “Uh, right now? Can’t you just check once we get to Nat’s apartment?” _When we’re alone and not everyone is looking at me shirtless?_

“If something is wrong, it’s better to know now.” Something clicked into place behind Bruce’s eyes.

_Wait._

_Bruce knew?_

_He knew something was up with Peter._

_Who told him? Tony? Steve? Both of them?_

_Holy shit holy shit holy shit._

_No no no nonono._

“C’mon,” Bruce said gently, his words low and soft so the rest of the team couldn’t hear them. “I’ll find us some privacy.” A little louder, Bruce announced, “The medical kit is this way.”

Gently holding onto Peter’s bicep, Bruce steered them toward a spot hidden from view by a wall mounted with all sorts of knives and guns.

“What did Dad tell you?” Peter demanded as soon as they were out of view of the rest of the team. “What did he say?”

Bruce was a terrible liar. “Nothing. Why? What do you think he said?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“Why don’t you just let me check you out and you can talk to Tony about whatever you think it is he said to me once all of us are out of this situation?”

Peter crossed his arms tighter. “How about we don’t?”

“Why are you so moody right now?” For anyone else, the question would be snide or patronizing, maybe even both. From Bruce… it was genuine.

It didn’t help Peter feel like a better person.

“I’m not moody!” _I’m starving._

“Okay.” Bruce snapped gloves on. “All right. Let me see your back.”

Painstakingly, Peter peeled his suit down his shoulders, careful not to let the fabric slip past his hips. He didn’t want Bruce to see the ugly way his stomach fat pooled on his lap when he was sitting.

“Peter…” Bruce’s cold fingertips touched the soft spot between his shoulder blade and spine. “What happened to your back? It’s covered in bruises.”

Peter leapt up and pulled his suit back over his arms, hitting the sensor on his chest so the suit vacuumed shut over his body. “What do you mean? I just- I just, um, fell off a building?” _Nice job, Peter. Your voice is so high pitched the neighborhood dogs are rallying to sue._ “Of course my back is bruised.”

“No, those bruises are old. Green and yellow. Only on your spine.” Bruce’s eyes went hard. “Did someone-”

“No!” _Shit, shit, shit._ Bruce looked scared and angry. He was going to tell Dad and Pops. Dad and Pops would think the bruises were from a fight or something. He did not need them to know about this. “No one hurt me. I…”

His spine was mottled like a watercolor from doing sit ups in the dark until he hit the quadruple digits. His hips and lower back were bruised, too.

Bruce stepped forward and Peter jumped back, hitting the wall of weapons and knocking some knives free from their hooks.

“Kid!” Nat ran over. “We’re trying to…” Her eyes darted between Peter and Bruce, reading their body language. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Bruce said. “Let’s get to the safe house.”

Bruce and Fury went next, Bruce casting a look Peter’s way before Fury ushered him down the stairwell.

Then it was just Nat and Thor and Peter.

The silence around them was tense and coarse, like barbed wire.

Nat clearly wanted to ask Peter what had gone on between him and Bruce, Thor was oblivious, and Peter wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and hide.

But he couldn’t even do that because someone had blown up his bed. Literally.

Peter settled his jaw on his knees and tried to distract himself. Calm the tide of thoughts threatening to pull him under until he couldn’t breathe anymore.

He pulled his mask down over his face. Nat couldn’t worry about what she couldn’t see, right?

Besides, Peter was doing enough worrying for the whole group as it was.

His dad was hurt. Maybe it was really bad, maybe it wasn’t. Peter couldn’t tell and didn’t know.

Steve was fine. For now. But the cold... And the tight spaces for Tony… _What if where they were going was small and cold and both of his dads needed him?_

_What would he do then?_

Bruce was going to tell his dads about the bruises and then they would worry even more.

Peter curled in on himself and scrunched his eyes tight.

_Take a breath._

_You’re gonna be fine._

_Take a-_

Suddenly, Nat was in front of him, her shadow triggering his sense more than her light steps.

“It’s time to go. Can I trust you not to pass out or do I need to have the big guy here carry you?”

Peter shook his head and stood. “I’m fine. I can do this.”

She smiled but it wasn’t real. It was the smile adults gave kids when they didn’t want kids to worry along with them.

“Then let’s go.”

With another deep breath, Peter followed her and they sprinted to the staircase leading to the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: disordered eating, body image, PTSD, anxiety attacks, violence


End file.
